


Ephemeral Smiles

by orphan_account



Category: Tiger & Bunny
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Bittersweet, Character Development, M/M, Plotty, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-30
Updated: 2011-11-10
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 45,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barnaby is targeted by a NEXT and sustains severe retrograde amnesia. An AU exploring what Kotetsu and Barnaby's relationship might have been like had Barnaby no memories of his past or revenge. Beneath a changing partnership also lurk dark mysteries surrounding the NEXT attack and the true nature of the Ouroboros.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the T&B anon meme. The version posted here has been revised to improve the quality of the story.

“How could you let this happen?” Agnes’ eyes are bloodshot, her make-up blotchy and flaking. She grabs a fistful of Kotetsu’s shirt to bring him close enough to bite his head off. A sharp acrylic fingernail stabs at his sternum. “ _He’s your partner, for fuck’s sake!_ ”

He doesn’t know what to say, so he lowers his head to hide his grimace. His hands clench and unclench as the words echo shrilly in his ears.

Keith puts a gentle hand on Agnes’ shoulder and pries her away. She pivots on her heels and glares, her mouth opening to snap off a sharp reprimand. He stares back solemnly, eyes half-lidded with sorrow. She chokes back a frustrated noise and stomps away, shoulders shaking.

Kotetsu feels more than sees Antonio’s presence.

“We should visit him soon,” Antonio mutters. “After they finish running exams.”

He follows his friend’s broad back, numbness spreading from his chest to his fingers and toes. He remembers the sight televised on large flat screens of Barnaby, sprawled in the middle of the street, blood staining pale curls, as civilians screamed and police shouted for order. His glasses had shattered from the impact, their fragments glittering across the depressed black pavement. Eye witnesses claimed Barnaby hadn’t the chance to put up a fight before the NEXT had struck.

At that time Kotetsu was at Kaede’s graduation ceremony, snapping pictures and clapping enthusiastically. He had forgotten his bracelet at home, only to find 20 calls for him four hours after the incident.

Now he sits with Antonio and Keith in the waiting room. He worries the slim band around his wrist, impatience threatening to bubble up and burst into irrational anger. He knows even if he had been in reach there wasn’t much he could have done to save Barnaby — the attack had been instantaneous and had Barnaby not activated his powers a split second before, there was a strong chance he would have been dead.

It isn’t Kotetsu’s fault, but guilt and worry seizes him anyway. Helplessness too, washes over him in icy waves. Right now he can’t do anything for Barnaby but wait.  
~*

  
“Why do I have to — ”

Exactly the wrong words to say, he thinks belatedly as Agnes shoves onto him authorization forms and a ballpoint pen.

“You’re his partner aren’t you? This way he has someone who can protect him in case another attack occurs. Besides, Dr. Reynolds stated it was wise to keep him under constant supervision as he's had severe retrograde amnesia.”

Kotetsu stares at Agnes utterly lost.

She continues, “For now Tiger and Barnaby are taking a temporary break from Hero TV. It’s your responsibility to ensure Barnaby returns to health.”

“…what if he doesn’t regain his memory?” Kotetsu asks, steel cutting his words. He doesn’t want Barnaby to be pressured by the company when he was already dealing with his trauma.

“That’s up to the board of directors. If they feel he is able to perform adequately, his contract still stands.”

“And you want me so you can put Bunny back into the spotlight? It’s not that simple. He’s seriously injured.”

The edges of her rouge-colored lips tighten.

“I know.”

She turns half away from Kotetsu, gazing out the hospital window. Bright lights in the distance flash cheerful slogans against the somber night sky. “That’s why you’re perfect. Unlike the others, you’ll care about him.”

Once again, he doesn’t know what to say. His thumb and forefinger pinch the front of his hat, letting it slip slightly over his eyes to hide his surprise.  
~*

  
Kotetsu steps into the locker room and catches the sight of Barnaby’s pink-red suit hanging clamped against the wall with specialized locks. A thin layer of dust shimmers on sleek armor. Unlike Kotetsu’s suit, Barnaby’s is in pristine condition — exactly the way he had left it two weeks ago.

He rattles the keys Agnes had provided for him and searches for Barnaby’s locker number. There, nearby the shower benches. The metal hinges squeak and reveal a set of Barnaby’s things. He puts everything into a bag and checks his phone for directions. The apartment isn’t too far from headquarters.

When he arrives, a small woman in a white coat answers the door. She has mousey hair and delicate features, but her expression is coldly professional. The lettering on her lab coat indicates she is Dr. Reynolds, Barnaby’s private physician. In her hands is a thick packet of papers.

“Good morning, Mr. Kaburagi,” says Dr. Reynolds. “Barnaby’s doing well at the moment. All you have to do is monitor him for any signs of neurological damage — any odd movements, tremors, headaches, that sort of thing. I have a list here. Otherwise make sure he takes his medication and arrives tomorrow at the clinic for another brain scan.”

He nods and Dr. Reynolds makes a quick departure. He’s setting down Barnaby’s things when the man steps into the living room, wearing a loose t-shirt and jeans and looking very much like a typical teenager. He’s barefooted and without his glasses, which is an odd sight. An even odder sight is the shy, uncertain expression that dominates Barnaby’s pale face.

“Hey, Bu — Barnaby!” he says with forced cheer. “I brought back some of your stuff. For now I’ll be living with you to make sure you’re doing okay. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Barnaby answers, so softly that Kotetsu almost missed the response. “You’re my caretaker?”

“Ah, you could put it that way.” Kotetsu straightens up and stretches out a hand. Barnaby stares at the offering before slowly reaching out to shake it. His hand is cold, Kotetsu thinks vaguely.

For the first few days, they remain cautious of each other. Kotetsu avoids mentioning anything about the attack or about the past, and instead waits for Barnaby to initiate the conversation. However, the man is completely taciturn, only responding to Kotetsu’s questions when necessary. It worries him to see his partner so subdued, but he covers it up with a positive attitude and a smile.

It would take time, Kotetsu thinks. The vision of Barnaby’s crumpled and bleeding body returns to haunt him whenever his thoughts wander. One doesn’t recover from something like that in a week.

They spend a good amount of time together with Kotetsu chaperoning Barnaby’s hospital visits and running errands by his side. He keeps a careful eye on his partner, observing how the man seems to move with such hesitance where there was once elegant confidence, to speak with such meekness where there was once sparkling charisma.

Barnaby is almost painfully polite to him until the third day, when in the kitchen Kotetsu asks to help out with the cooking.

“Hey, Bunny, if you could hand me the whisk — ”

He doesn’t notice his slip until he realizes Barnaby is peering at him curiously.

“Who’s Bunny?”

Kotetsu has a split second to decide how to handle this. He improvises, aiming the cooking spoon at his partner and grinning.

“Well, that’s you!”

Barnaby ducks his head, hiding behind blond curls, but Kotetsu catches a slight, pleased smile. It’s almost cute, he thinks. The idea of a cute Bunny makes his brain stutter so he shakes it off as coincidence. He lowers the cooking spoon and resumes stirring pieces of pork. He glances at his partner, who still bashfully avoids his gaze.

“If you mind, I can call you Barnaby,” he says, not wanting to make his partner uncomfortable.

Barnaby startles, bright green eyes peeking through long bangs. A slight flush appears.

“I-I don’t mind, Mr. Kaburagi.”

He heaves a sigh.

“For the fifth time, just call me Kotetsu. None of this Mister business.” He shakes the spoon with feigned exasperation, brows furrowed and lips exaggerated in a pout. His face must have been a sight because it causes Barnaby to dissolve into barely restrained giggles.

“Okay, Mr. Kotetsu,” says Barnaby, an edge of mischievousness creeping into his voice.

Kotetsu makes another face and rolls his eyes, ignoring the fresh bout of giggles that emerge from a certain someone.

“Just hand me the whisk, Bunny.”  
~*


	2. Chapter 2

On the fourth night Kotetsu jerks awake to the sound of crashing porcelain. A scream, raw and desperate, pierces the air and his heart.

He jumps up and runs to the bedroom only to find his partner still asleep. Barnaby thrashes in bed, sweating with the covers thrown off. His eyes are open, glassy and feverish but unseeing. He doesn’t react to the sudden light that floods his bedroom nor does he show signs of noticing Kotetsu’s presence. His face, once pale, is now flushed and tight with pain.

Kotetsu carefully sidesteps the broken lamp and is about to reach out to shake Barnaby into consciousness when he realizes what’s going on.

 _Night terrors_ , he thinks to himself. He remembers when Kaede was younger she would scream at ungodly hours, incoherent with panic and fear against an invisible monster Kotetsu didn’t know how to slay. Instead he would hug her small, trembling body until she calmed down enough to fall back into normal sleep. It was all he could do.

Right now Kotetsu’s instincts suggest it’s not a good idea to rouse Barnaby awake. Guided by the experience of nine years of parenting, he decides to sit on the edge of the bed. He reaches out to stroke Barnaby’s hair, murmuring nonsense words to soothe his partner. As soon as his hand touches blond curls, Barnaby bolts upright and clings to Kotetsu’s chest, his cries muffled by the fabric of a cotton t-shirt. Kotetsu can feel Barnaby’s heart palpitating rapidly against his skin.

The entire episode lasts ten minutes. Gradually, Barnaby falls back into slumber, leaning against Kotetsu, head buried in the crook of his shoulder. Hands continue to clutch cotton fabric as though frightened of letting go. Kotetsu stays still until he can feel Barnaby beginning to relax. Carefully, he places his partner back onto the mattress and tucks him in with blankets. For two dawn-stained hours he waits, watching for any further signs of distress. Then, fighting against creaking muscles and sore shoulders, he stands to fetch some water from the kitchen.

Next morning his partner shows no signs of remembering his night terrors, and laughs easily at Kotetsu when he makes a sour face at the taste of the milk he found in the fridge. It's oddly relieving on one level, but disconcerting on another. He's never seen Barnaby in such a state. He wonders if it was right for him to have seen his partner in such a vulnerable position when he was often so guarded, so private.

What was done was done, Kotetsu decides. He's not one to fret over such what-ifs, and focuses on the checklist Agnes provided for his duties.

They visit the clinic in the afternoon, Barnaby staying close to his side. At one point he even grabs the end of Kotetsu’s sleeve, apparently not realizing how it must look to others. He seems apprehensive of crowds and busy intersections, Kotetsu notes. At the clinic, his partner eyes the patrons warily.

It makes sense; after all, he's the only person Barnaby has truly interacted with over the past week. Everyone else wears a foreign face, foreign intentions. With that in mind, he tries to take Barnaby's strange behavior in stride.  
~*

 

When the nurse calls Barnaby in for a series of neurological tests, he takes this chance to inform Dr. Reynolds about the night terrors.

The physician frowns in thought and scribbles something illegible on her notepad. She thanks Kotetsu and requests him to keep a log about any abnormal sleep behaviors.

“Visiting the hospital always sucks, eh?” Kotetsu stretches his arms above his head as they leave with small bags of prescriptions and a note from Dr. Reynolds advising Barnaby’s dosages. “What do you say about getting some ice cream?”

Maybe it’s due to a lack of sleep but he isn’t prepared for Barnaby's lips to curve into an excited smile. It's entirely unlike his usual cool smirks, or the sneers that frequently appeared whenever Kotetsu entered Barnaby’s eyeline. It’s even different from nervous, child-like smiles Barnaby provided during the first half of the week. No, this smile is bright, genuine, and spontaneous. Relaxed. Carefree. The way you were supposed to smile. A sharp ache spreads from the center of his chest, warm and fluid, at the thought of seeing Barnaby smiling like this more often.

“That sounds great, Mr. Kotetsu!”

He catches himself staring far too long at his partner, drawn by the color of rosy cheeks and bright green eyes. He has to force himself to look away and act normally.

“Oi, if you keep calling me that I won’t buy any ice cream!” he says, adding fake irritation to his tone.

Barnaby grabs one of Kotetsu’s arms with both hands and lets his eyes widen.

“Please, Mr. Kotetsu?” he asks softly, earnestly. The green in his eyes appears smooth as sea-glass, warmed with the glow of hope and anticipation.

 _Oh, dammit. Why does he have to act so cute?_ Kotetsu grumbles, but allows Barnaby lead them to one of the ice cream parlors. When Barnaby struggles to choose between two flavors, Kotetsu decides to order both.

“Is there anything else you wanted to do today?” he asks. They sit in the park, watching children and teenagers playing Frisbee, while the hot sun warmed the soles of their feet and the backs of their necks.

“Whatever Mr. Kotetsu wants to do is fine with me,” says Barnaby. He toys with the ice cream wrapper, a shy smile still playing on the corners of his lips.

“Hmm, really?” Scratching his chin, Kotetsu tries to come up with something a person like Barnaby would enjoy. It occurs to him that his partner, the old one, not this current amnesiac, seemed to do nothing but work and search for more clues about the Ouroboros syndicate. Did Barnaby even have hobbies?

Well, he will now, Kotetsu decides.

“How about a game of paintball?”

Barnaby blinks and tilts his head, looking entirely puzzled. It’s such a puppyish expression that Kotetsu can’t resist ruffling his hair.

“C’mon. Let’s go play.”  
~*

 

They trudge back into the apartment, clothes splattered with mud and paint and grass stains. Barnaby’s old red boots greet them at the entranceway. In hindsight it’s fortunate that Barnaby had preferred to wear sneakers today. Kotetsu doesn’t want to imagine the old Barnaby's reaction to his precious $2,000 boots being ruined by rough terrain and cheap paint.

In the back of his mind, Kotetsu thinks he probably should start laundry, but the rumbling in his stomach knocks it off his priorities. They decide to microwave some leftover lasagna, and sit on the floor of Barnaby’s living room to eat. They watch the news on a ridiculously oversized screen, listening to the anchorman jabber on about a dog that can sing the national anthem before moving on to gush about Blue Rose’s new single.

He’s about to make a wisecrack about the anchorman’s toupee when Barnaby sets down his fork and takes a deep breath.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Kotetsu turns his gaze toward his partner and offers an easy smile.

“You liked the lasagna? I can teach you how to make it later if you want.”

“No, it’s not that, Mr. Kotetsu. I meant… thank you. For everything today.” Barnaby sneaks a glance at his face before staring hard at the greasy surface of a plain, cornflower blue plate.

“Hey, you don’t have to keep thanking me. I like doing this kind of stuff. It’s nice to take a day off, you know?”

“…you have a job?”

Damn, Barnaby’s perceptive as ever.

He coughs to cover up his embarrassment.

“Ah, yeah, but they let me go on leave until you’re better.”

“Doing that much — ” Barnaby frowns, concern forming a thin line between his brows.

“It’s nothing, okay? Don’t worry about it.”

“But — ”

“It's nothing.”

“But why, Mr. Kotetsu?”

Losing patience, Kotetsu taps his knuckles on Barnaby’s head.

“How about this then? You do laundry tonight and we’ll call it even.” He dodges the question, not feeling up to explaining to Barnaby exactly the nature of their past relationship and careers. It would be a long talk, if they ever got around to discussing such matters.

Barnaby hesitates, but the line between his brows disappears.  
~*

 

Again.

Kotetsu’s eyes snap open, the remains of sleep vanishing in an instant. He unzips the sleeping bag and dashes into the bedroom, his ears ringing from the cries echoing against the vast space of the apartment. He slams open the door to find Barnaby huddled on the floor, head in his hands. A tiny droplet of blood swells at his feet and that’s when Kotetsu realizes he must not have properly cleaned up the shards of the broken lamp from a few days prior.

“Bunny,” he whispers. He tiptoes into the bedroom, his bare feet cold against the sweep of carpet.

Barnaby doesn’t respond.

“Bunny, it’s okay,” he continues. His own heart is hammering against his chest, his throat constricted, as he watches Barnaby lift his head and stare blankly ahead. Despite the screams from earlier, his partner’s face is slack, devoid of emotion, transparent as glass. The disconnect between the two reactions unnerves him, churns his stomach and drives hot nails of panic through his mind.

 _Stay calm_ , he reminds himself. _He needs you right now._

Kotetsu stretches out a hand, his knuckles brushing the side of Barnaby’s tear-streaked face. Green eyes blink, blond lashes fluttering against ghost-white skin. Moonlight illuminates through the window, tracing shadows underneath sharp cheekbones. Barnaby’s fingers rise into the air and blindly seek the fabric of Kotetsu’s shirt. Somehow, instinctively, he knows from a mere touch that Kotetsu is near. Once fingers bump against a familiar solid presence, they latch on, digging against skin and raising red crescents against the crevice of Kotetsu’s collarbones.

It takes eight minutes for Barnaby’s eyes to completely close, for his body to completely relax into sleep paralysis, for his breathing to equalize.

The entire time Kotetsu watches the transformation, awed and disturbed. He strokes Barnaby’s hair, untangling the knots that formed during a night of tossing and turning. He spends the next hour letting the sensation of soft locks tingle his palms while he waits for Barnaby to enter deep sleep. Once he’s sure Barnaby won’t descend into night terrors again, he lifts up his partner and carries him the short distance to the bed. He straightens out the pillows and wraps blankets around the sleeping form. Although his eyelids grow heavy from exhaustion, he keeps watch by propping himself against the bedframe, his feet scrapping against rough carpet, his ears open to any unusual noises.

He stays like this until the glare of sunlight enters the room and chases away the phantasms of terror.  
~*

 

Kotetsu yawns wide enough to cause the joints in his jawbone to crack as he prepares breakfast. By the time he finishes roasting the sausages, Barnaby arrives in baggy pants and a loose t-shirt, his hair frizzy and disheveled. It almost amuses Kotetsu, and it makes him wonder how long Barnaby would spend perfecting his curls in the morning when he was…

When he was normal.

A dark mood threatens to poison his thoughts as the image of his partner, lacerated almost beyond recognition, burns behind his retinas. Barnaby had spent four days in ICU after the attack, then transferred over to a long-term care unit for two weeks. Since neither Kotetsu nor the other Heroes were family, they had to wait a few days before they were allowed to see him. Even then Barnaby probably didn’t remember their visit – he slept most of the time, head wrapped almost entirely in starchy white bandages, his breath misting against an oxygen mask, while plastic tubes trailed from thin arms. The beeping of monitors and the distant bustling noise of hospital staff occupied the room along with seven visitors.

Kotetsu remembers standing next to the others, listening as Karina quietly sobbed against Nathan’s comforting shoulders. Keith and Ivan busied themselves by making “get well” cards and paper cranes to decorate the counters. Antonio appeared grim and thoroughly uncomfortable but stayed out of respect. Pao Lin stood nearby the other two, observing how the pile of cranes and cards grew in the duration of their visit.

No one commented on the fact that Kotetsu didn’t say a word, didn’t offer to make anything for Barnaby’s recovery, didn't show his grief like the others. The news of Kotetsu’s status as a caretaker had spread quickly amongst the others after Agnes’ demands, and they knew he was forced on temporary leave from work as part of his new duties.

And of course, anyone could tell simply by the tenseness of his body and the hollowness in his eyes that Kotetsu certainly felt, perhaps more acutely than the others, the eviscerating claws of guilt and sorrow. The sight was enough to silence any rash words that could escape from the other Heroes' lips.

Now Barnaby sits with him in the kitchen, his physical wounds healed and nearly invisible. His partner eats slowly, cutting his sausages into tiny pieces before placing each individual bite into his mouth. He doesn’t appear to be distressed despite the nightly incidents.

Dr. Reynolds never gave Kotetsu an answer as to why Barnaby suffered night terrors. He suspects the physician is at as much of a loss as he is about the situation.

“Mr. Kotetsu?”

He realizes his hand is clenching the handle of the frying pan far too tightly and immediately loosens his grip.

“What is it, Bunny?” he asks, attempting to add some cheer behind his question.

“Are we going to visit the park today, like you promised?” Hopefulness rings in his soft voice and mirrors the anticipation behind a slight smile.

“Of course!” Kotetsu answers. He tries smiling back. “A promise is a promise after all.”  
~*

 

Kotetsu snores, causing wisps of Barnaby’s hair to flutter in rhythm. Green eyes watch as his nose wrinkles from the brush of hair, his hand twitching as though he’s itching to swat the ticklish pest away.

Sunlight begins to seep into the room, bleaching the carpet a warm blue. Barnaby rests his head on his arms and follows the enticing fall and rise of Kotetsu’s firm chest. Usually, the man sends Barnaby off to bed, insisting he could spend the night on the floor with a sleeping bag. One time Barnaby snuggled into the sleeping bag before Kotetsu could go in but instead of joining him, the man rubbed his neck and went to nap on the hard, angular chair.

Sometimes he wakes to find Kotetsu kneeling at his bedside, sleeping with his body hunched in an awkward angle. He doesn’t know why Kotetsu only occasionally sneaks into Barnaby’s room when he’s already asleep. It’s not like he was uninvited.

 _What a strange man_ , he concludes. An irresistible smile forms on his face. _A strange, but wonderful man._

Unlike the hospital staff, the anonymous people with cameras and microphones, or the sorrowful faces that greeted him during his physical recovery, Barnaby suspects Kotetsu is somehow special. Never once does the man make him feel neglected. A touch of the hand, a fond smile, a silly joke, a stricken look – he has yet to see such emotional rawness, such sincerity in anyone else. Others are wary, excessively curious or pitying of him. It cages him, as though he’s meant to be observed, a specimen meant to rouse reactions from others.

Kotetsu is honest. Genuinely caring. He gives his all even if Barnaby can’t understand why.

He still doesn’t know why Kotetsu devotes so much time toward taking care of him. A few days ago Barnaby spotted the wedding ring Kotetsu wore on his left hand and knew he had a family, which surely meant obligations. He had also mentioned his job, but shrugged it off as though it was nothing. Although Barnaby doesn’t understand the altruism of Kotetsu's actions, he has hints regarding its potential motivation.

His name. _Bunny_. It’s an odd nickname, not one he expects. But Kotetsu says it so naturally, as though he’s always been Bunny.

The second clue is a phone call. Once he overhears a conversation between Kotetsu and some fellow named Antonio. Kotetsu mentions a moment when they were out in the paintball field competing with another group. They had developed a natural teamwork, Barnaby attacking and fleeing quickly while Kotetsu focused most of the fire on himself by charging head on. Then as one member remained on the other team, they flanked both sides and, perfectly in synch, brought down the enemy with dual hits. Kotetsu laughs about it over the phone, saying to Antonio,

“It reminded me of that one time when we faced that fat diamond-obsessed NEXT…”

Barnaby knows it’s rude to eavesdrop, but he can’t help it. He wants to learn more about their shared past, about Kotetsu’s life. The man is oddly tight-lipped about the subject, saying it’s better for Barnaby to try to let the memories return.

 _A strange man_ , he thinks. He pokes Kotetsu in the middle of the forehead with a friendly jab. It causes the man to grunt and shift in his sleep. A leg slides over his waist and suddenly Barnaby’s heartbeat races.

He leans into the warmth of Kotetsu’s chest and closes his eyes. It’s already 8 AM but he doesn’t care. The heat and scent of Kotetsu’s body sinks into his bones, leaving no room for cold, depressing thoughts.  
~*


	3. Chapter 3

Today marks the second week of living with Barnaby. Oddly, Kotetsu isn’t too uncomfortable with the domesticity. It’s different from living with his mother, or even living with his wife. Barnaby enjoys helping out with chores, takes his medication dutifully, and doesn’t mind if Kotetsu gets a little grumpy from lack of sleep.

But two issues still persist:

1) Barnaby’s night terrors haven’t gone away  
2) Barnaby insists on sticking close to Kotetsu and becomes anxious whenever he’s away for too long.

“I don’t know what to do,” Kotetsu murmurs into his cell. He glances at his partner, who’s in the kitchen washing dishes. “This is so weird. It’s like he’s scared of being abandoned.”

“He’s gone through a lot lately, of course he’s going to be unsettled. He’ll probably calm down soon,” says Agnes on the other line. “Have you submitted your report regarding Barnaby’s status?”

Kotetsu growls.

“I have,” he says. “And it’s bullshit. Like I said, even if he’s regarded as ‘fit’ by the company, he’s in no shape to return to — ”

“What do you think your role is?”

“What do I — haah? Excuse me?” He knows he’s being defensive, but the condescension dripping from Agnes’ voice hits a sour note.

“You’re a Hero, if you haven’t forgotten. If you had half a brain to think about your status and your job, you’d stop acting like a child about this.”

“Aren’t you the one who said I was most suited to take care of Bunny?” he hisses.

“Of course. But you can’t take care of him indefinitely. The company wants results,” Agnes says. “Even if you’re the only one I can trust with him, it won’t matter if you lose your job and your resources.”

They let the conversation fall into a tense silence.

It isn’t until Barnaby peeks out into the living with a smile that Kotetsu clears his throat and tells Agnes good-bye. He attempts to erase the anger lining his mouth but can’t quite manage it. Maybe if he’s lucky Barnaby would mistake it as simple frustration more than anything else.

“What’s wrong?” The smile fades, replaced by worry and a hint of anxiety.

“A-ah nothing. Just some bickering between old friends,” Kotetsu lies. He tries to cover up his feelings once more, putting on a grin that he hopes is convincing. His cheeks strain from the effort. “Hey Bunny, what do you say about watching a movie?”

The movie is dull, a pseudo-horror film involving cheap props and bad actors. Barnaby’s attention wanders, more focused on drawing in the notebook Dr. Reynolds had given him than watching the screen. Kotetsu hardly notices, lost in anxious thoughts about Kaede's future, his job, and Agnes’ words.

 _The company wants results._

Barnaby is nowhere near ready to return to work. But the whole reason he has a job is to act as Barnaby’s partner, a foil, really, for the other Hero under the licensing of Apollon Media. His livelihood, Kaede’s college fund, his mother’s retirement, they all depend on the relatively steady income from his job. He can afford to lose some cash here and there due to fines; he earns enough to have that luxury. But if they decide Barnaby’s case is hopeless, and that Kotetsu is no longer needed…

He sacrificed a lot, including his pride, to Mr. Lloyds and the others when he began his employment at Apollon. He still acquiesces, somewhat reluctantly, to the whims of company orders under the threat of joblessness. Occasionally, a tiny secret ember of resentment flares in his gut, but it’s fleeting because he knows a little humiliation is worth it to be able to go out and save lives.

But he’s not saving lives right now. He’s, to be blunt, a babysitter. Not that he minds helping his partner; it soothes his guilt and satisfies the need to be useful to someone, even if being useful means running errands and cooking dinner.

But it’s not the same.

As the days march on, he grows increasingly restless and panicked. He hasn’t told Barnaby what’s been going on during the night, not wanting to disturb his partner when it could simply be a strange symptom of his trauma, one that could ease on its own. After all, Barnaby seems to suffer no malignant effects when the episodes conclude and Dr. Reynolds has yet to express any real alarm over the issue.

Still.

Every night he wakes to the same cries, the same cycle of keening pain and numb blankness, and he wonders if there will be an end.

He wonders if he should tell Barnaby, whether it would make the nights better or worse or not change a damn thing.

Pressure builds behind his temples, squeezing nerves and blood into a ball of slow, throbbing pain. He tears his eyes from the screen, not having really seen it anyway, and attempts to wrench his thoughts from the gloom of work and night terrors. He glances down at Barnaby, ready to distract himself with a simple conversation, when a flash flood of red strikes his vision.

Kotetsu goes completely rigid, unable to breathe.

In sharp, jagged lines of scarlet ink, Barnaby draws the sign of the Ouroboros. It repeats like an ancient curse, bleeding through the pages and drowning empty white spaces with devouring serpents and stained daggers. Barnaby’s hands move with the grace of muscle memory, but his face is tight and his eyes are blank.  
~*

 

Kotetsu returns with a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water. He crouches next to Barnaby, who now has his head in ink-stained hands, while uncontrollable tremors run down the length of his spine. The pen sticks straight up from the body of the notebook, pinching the center of the Ouroboros mark. Kotetsu rubs his partner’s back in broad, firm circles. The tremors slowly subside but Barnaby doesn’t lower his hands from his face.

Shallow, rattling breaths. In. OutIn. Out. InInOut.

“Easy there,” Kotetsu murmurs. He continues to stroke Barnaby’s back, following the places where muscle remains tense and tight.

Once his partner regains even breathing, Kotetsu lifts the glass to his lips. Barnaby swallows automatically.

Unlike the night terrors, Kotetsu knows Barnaby won’t forget, won’t act with the same carefree ease he’s settled into over the past few weeks. A small, secret part of him feels relieved that he doesn’t have to pretend Barnaby’s nightmares aren’t real, but another part of him is lost and frightened by the change.

Once he’s sure Barnaby isn’t about to have another breakdown, Kotetsu grabs his phone and calls Dr. Reynolds. He speaks quickly, stumbling on his words, and the doctor forces him to repeat himself. She deems the incident serious enough to make a personal visit.

He stands by the bedside as Dr. Reynolds checks Barnaby’s pupils, heart rate, and blood pressure. His partner sits up between wrinkled sheets, his eyes downcast and confused. His fingers rub at the crimson stains splotched across his fingers, which stream down his knuckles, and fade at his palms.

Dr. Reynolds hastily writes down a report, then suggests Barnaby wait in bed for a few minutes while she talked to Kotetsu. Surprisingly, he makes no fuss about it, although his fingers twitch when Kotetsu turns away to leave.

They talk in the living room, letting the artificial lights from the adjacent buildings illuminate through tall windows and cast everything into stark half-shadows.

“It’s common for amnesiacs to be able to retain muscle memory. Did something trigger Barnaby to write out these symbols?” she asks. Her voice is scratchy, tired from the day.

Kotetsu shakes his head. “I don’t know. We were just watching a movie.”

“Maybe a scene?”

“He didn’t seem to be paying attention to the movie or anything.”

Dr. Reynolds flips through the almost full notebook. Each page is dark, lines raised against paper from the furious scratches of pen.

“Do you have any idea what this means?” she asks, a perplexed frown pushing down thin lips.

Kotetsu freezes as his mind races between his options. Would Barnaby be okay with divesting his hard-earned knowledge of the Ouroboros to his physician? Is it safe for Kotetsu to confide in Dr. Reynolds?

“I don’t know much,” he says. He rubs the side of his face. His eyes can’t help but trail toward the family portrait standing on Barnaby’s desk. He can’t make out any of the faces in the dimness, but he can clearly picture it containing the cherished image of a warm, happy family.

It isn’t his place to talk about Barnaby’s parents. But maybe he can share, just a little, about the Ouroboros if it can unlock the mystery behind his partner’s sudden breakdown.

“I don’t know much,” he repeats. Heaviness sets into his shoulders. “Just that Barnaby thinks it’s a symbol of an underground crime syndicate.”

Dr. Reynolds raises her eyebrows.

“Is that all?”

“Well… he’s been kind of obsessed with the Ouroboros since he was a kid. He says it’s shown up in a number of crimes.”

The artificial lights merely outline Dr. Reynolds face, hiding her reaction. Kotetsu squints, an uneasiness catching in his throat when the physician moves a little closer to the windows, revealing a calculating, speculative look.

“Has he always harbored these thoughts?” she asks carefully.

“Um, well, he mentioned something about twenty years — ”

He thinks he hears her mutter the word _delusions_ but isn’t sure. Nonetheless, it generates a knee-jerk reaction.

“You don’t think he’s crazy, do you? He was perfectly fine before he lost his memories!”

“Are you sure he wasn’t paranoid? Having hallucinations? I’ve never heard of this Ouroboros, nor any crimes related to such a mark," she says quietly.

“He’s not crazy!” Kotetsu is aware his voice is rising and that Barnaby can probably hear them.

“Look, I’m not giving you a definitive diagnosis. I’m just cautioning you to think about Barnaby’s past mental health. It’s very important we consider what he was like before the accident,” Dr. Reynolds explains. “I apologize if I’ve committed any offense.”

Kotetsu simmers down at the apology and folds his arms across his chest. Dr. Reynolds watches as he starts to pace around the room. He knew Barnaby before the amnesia. The man may have been extremely focused and kind of a jerkass, but it wasn’t as though he based his theory of the Ouroboros on nothing but smoke. He remembers the night his partner switched on the remote and revealed the sum of his efforts, gathered all in newspaper clippings, photographs, and documents.

He never really got a close look at the evidence though… it seemed convincing enough at the time with the sheer size of its scope.

Was that really enough to justify Barnaby’s obsession with the Ouroboros, Kotetsu wonders. Or had it been a desperate, manufactured goal to deal with the death of his parents?

What if —

No.

He can’t think of his partner like that, not when his instincts tell him Barnaby was — _is_ — sane.

Kotetsu squashes the doubts seeding in the corners of his mind, but can’t quite suppress the little voice that whispers to his fears and says exactly what he doesn’t want to hear:

 _But how well did you know him to begin with?_  
~*

 

No.

He refuses to answer that question. If he begins to distrust Barnaby, then only disaster will result. Barnaby needs his partner to stay reliable, to anchor him as he navigates an ocean of lost memories. Already people are wary of him, untrusting, unbelieving. They can only accept Barnaby in the constraints of their narrow-mindedness, whether it is as a Hero or as a mentally disturbed patient. He can’t let himself fall into such a trap as well.

No, he’ll stick with Barnaby through thick and thin. That’s what partners are supposed to do.

 _“As always, your thinking is old-fashioned.”_

His stomach lurches at the echo of a disdainful voice. His hands clench, his frown deepening as he struggles to shake off the young ghost of Barnaby’s former self. Dr. Reynolds, sensing she’s overstayed, dons her coat and departs quickly, leaving Kotetsu standing alone in the vast emptiness of the living room. For a whole minute he does nothing, clinging to the blank-numb moment where he doesn’t have to think, to fight, to defend, to listen.

The moment passes. Knowing what he has to do now, he heads toward the bedroom. A light streams from the bottom, indicating Barnaby had been awake during the conversation. It’s likely he heard most, if not all, of it.

He raps twice on the door.

“Bunny?” he calls softly.

“Come in,” says Barnaby.

He finds Barnaby sitting up in bed, typing away on his laptop. For the first time since the incident, he’s wearing glasses. It shocks Kotetsu, leaves him frozen and unsure. The monitor reflects on Barnaby's lenses, masking part of his face with its harsh glare. Kotetsu leans against the doorframe, not wanting to enter but not willing to walk away.

Scans of newspaper clips pop up on the screen one after another until the screen is crowded with hundreds of window headers. They pass too fast for anyone to fully capture any details, but a pattern emerges: the rapid-fire shots evolve into a slideshow of murder scenes, flashing grey-white-blue against the bedroom wall.

Just as Barnaby’s finger moves to hit the escape button, the screen halts at one image. It’s a picture of his parents, underneath a bold headline indicating their untimely death.

Barnaby traces the outline of their profiles with his fingertip, expression unreadable.

He speaks quietly.

“I heard you talking with the doctor. You mentioned something about an ’Ouroboros’. Were you aware that my laptop has an entire hard drive dedicated to material regarding this name?”

No response.

The newspaper article minimizes from the screen, disappearing underneath a transparent tray.

“You have your reasons for hiding things.”

Kotetsu twitches, shifting weight between his legs.

“If what Dr. Reynolds said…” Barnaby’s hands falter and lower onto the keyboard, forming loose fists. “If what she said was true and this collection of data is proof of my former self’s obsession and paranoia… then maybe it’s better for me not to know.”

His finger flicks over the screen to minimize the remaining thousands of opened files.

Kotetsu says nothing, his eyes half-lidded and pained. The muscles in his jaw flex, as though he’s thinking to respond, but he remains silent.

The glasses tap lightly as they land on the surface of the keyboard.

“There are still things I want to ask,” Barnaby says. “But I can wait as long… as long as you’ll stay.”

A pale face, drawn with hesitation and uncertainty, meets his gaze.

 _It’s the same_ , Kotetsu thinks. _The same expression he wore when he first saw me after the attack._

That's when he realizes.

They're on uneven ground. The distance that separates their bodies isn’t merely the physical boundaries of a room and an entrance; it isn't merely the byproduct of forced circumstances. Barnaby doesn’t demand Kotetsu reveal the truth about his past and his obsession with the Ouroboros when he has every right to do so. He isn’t willing to step forward first and exert his right to identity. Not when he doesn't know if the stability they’ve built over the last two weeks will crumble under this test. Not when the past whispers of horrors and traumas and madness that seem better forgotten.

Kotetsu can’t blame Barnaby for not wanting to know.

Yet he aches thinking of his old partner, who so desperately sought for an answer to the riddles scrambled between fuzzy pictures and old newspaper clippings. He wonders, with a sinking feeling, whether there is a connection between the night terrors and the disquiet that had cast shadows on his old partner’s face and drove him into murderous rage at the sight of a scimitar-sharp tattoo.

“Mr. Kotetsu?”

The question tiptoes in the air, reaching him as a faint, halting plea.

“Will you stay?”

He wants to cross this gap; he wants to close this distance.

He wants to erase that painful uncertainty from Barnaby’s face, wants to erase it like he did the lines between blond brows during another night of screaming, another night of wrestling intangible ghosts.

But to do so means having to act. To make a choice.

Kotetsu finds his voice and his courage somewhere in the back of his throat.

“I didn’t have a choice when Agnes assigned me as your caretaker,” he says bluntly.

Barnaby stiffens, heat rising on cheekbones. His head bows, shoulders hunch, as though bracing for impact.

Kotetsu pushes himself off the door frame and straightens up. Hands shove into pockets. He stares directly into Barnaby’s eyes.

Agnes had forced him to supervise Barnaby by burying him in paperwork and threatening his livelihood.

“But that has nothing to do with your question,” Kotetsu says.

He steps into the bedroom, his footfalls silent against the carpet.

Kneeling, he grabs both of Barnaby’s cold hands and squeezes.

“I’ll stay because I want to,” he says. “I promise I won’t leave.”

Barnaby’s fingers clench around his as a small smile, warm and bright like the first bud of a candlelight flame, chases away the chill of anxiety and eases the tension of uncertainty.  
~*


	4. Chapter 4

Scrambled eggs and toast land on Barnaby’s plate. He chews methodically as he watches Kotetsu bustle about the kitchen. Strong hands scrub the pan in steady circles, reminding Barnaby of last night. A hot flash of embarrassment runs down his back along with a tingling sense of hope.

He wouldn’t be left behind. Kotetsu promised him.

He wonders if it’s appropriate to smile.

The sink faucet turns off and dishes clatter on the drying rack. He lowers his eyes as Kotetsu turns around, feeling self-conscious about his staring. While he pretends to focus on cutting up bits of toast into little triangles, the man pulls up a chair across the table and sits down with a packet of papers, his cell phone clicking with the press of buttons.

“Hey, Bunny. Your appointment’s at 2 right?”

He nods and looks up to find Kotetsu frowning thoughtfully, hand cupping the bottom of his chin as he drops the cell phone onto the table with the other. The screen displays a calendar, each week marked red with notices regarding check-ups and clinic visits. Barnaby’s getting used to the plastic plants and the sterile alcoholic smell of hospital beds, and doesn’t think twice about the awful chalky taste of the pills they give him to treat his injuries. It does get tiring though, spending a third of his day in those medical centers while Kotetsu waited in the lounge with nothing but old magazines to preoccupy his time.

“What do you think about skipping? It’s not like she can do anything about it.”

It’s the first time such a suggestion has been made. Barnaby wonders if it had anything to do with the argument with Dr. Reynolds he overheard last night.

“Um… what would we do instead, Mr. Kotetsu?” he asks.

“That’s up to you.”

His heart speeds up as he tries to come up with a suitable plan. He reflects on the sort of things they’d done lately: eating out, playing paintball, visiting the park.

The park triggers memories of couples holding hands, leaning into each other as they stroll along the dirt pathways.

“M-maybe we could go back to Sternbild Park?”

Kotetsu raises his brows, lips quirking. “You really like that place, don’t you? Want to buy bread along the way to feed the ducks?”

 _Success_ , Barnaby thinks, the skin around his collar heating. He likes the idea of being able to walk alongside Kotetsu, to savor the man’s reassuring presence amongst the crowds of intimidating strangers, and to listen to the dynamic expressions that ring in the man’s voice, filled with personality and emotion. He likes laughing at Kotetsu’s comedic complaints and moments of clumsiness, likes listening to the low, warm tenor of his voice whenever it drops into seriousness, likes feeling the weight of Kotetsu’s hands whenever they brush against his, or whenever he regains half-consciousness in the middle of the night and finds himself embraced by gentle, trusting arms.

When he finishes his breakfast, he rinses off the plate and takes a peek at Kotetsu once more, who now has a pen tapping against his bottom lip as he tries to figure out what to write in some kind of form. It looks like tedious work, but Kotetsu never grumbles in front of him about it.

No, the man is strangely thoughtful of others. Despite the fact that anyone can tell Kotetsu disliked having to write up reports just from the way his eyes crinkled and his brows furrowed, he never says anything to make Barnaby feel guilty about being in his care.

It’s one of the many things that Barnaby notices in the past two weeks that makes him think Kotetsu is a good man and that he’s incredibly lucky to have him by his side.  
~*

 

Barnaby stares at his reflection in the mirror and adjusts the rim of his bucket hat to prevent it from slipping over his eyes. It clashes with his street clothing, but he pays no mind. Not that the hat would match with anything else... He glances at the finely pressed suits and bright red jackets lining his closet, untouched since his amnesia. He wonders what sort of job he had previously that required such a sophisticated level of attire.

“Ready, Bunny?” Kotetsu emerges from the bathroom with his face partially covered in a strange mask. He wears the mask every time they go out, never taking it off until the door of the apartment shuts behind them. Barnaby has tried asking about it, but never got a serious answer. Kotetsu would rub his chin, smirking, and say, “Ahhh, Bunny, when you have a face as handsome as mine, it’s dangerous walking around without it. Can’t have women swarming us whenever we go out, can we?”

Barnaby tries to picture Kotetsu surrounded by adoring women. Maybe they’d even ask for autographs or dates. He’d probably be stuck standing awkwardly beside the man, completely ignored. He frowns at the thought of women hanging all over the older man. Yes, it’s better for the both of them to be discreet. Even if Kotetsu’s sense of “discreet” seemed a bit… off.

The day is overcast, meaning Sternbild National Park is less crowded than usual. They spend the first half hour on a familiar dirt path that leads to a lake. There aren’t many ducks out on the water when they arrive, but it doesn’t stop Kotetsu from trying to coax them near with food. They give up feeding the ducks when one flaps its wings angrily and charges at him, squawking as though it had a personal vendetta. An officer runs over to help, then scolds Kotetsu for trying to feed wild animals. She jabs her thumb at the large “DO NOT FEED THE DUCKS” sign posted beside the lake. He laughs sheepishly, and they decide to venture elsewhere.

Barnaby spots an unoccupied bench and they settle down with their bags of food. Kotetsu hands him a turkey sandwich before grabbing a bowl of fried rice. He hums happily as he pops open a yellow bottle and turns it upside down. The bottle splutters as a large, tube-like layer of mayonnaise lands on the meal. Noticing Barnaby’s stare, Kotetsu takes a bite of his food and tilts the bowl. The mayo wiggles slightly.

“Want some? It’s pretty good.”

“Ah, I’m fine, thank you.”

“You sure? Your loss.” Kotetsu resumes devouring his lunch.

“BARNARBY! WHAT A SURPRISE!”

They jump at the enthusiastic, _and loud_ , greeting. A tall, blond man waves from a few meters away. His golden retriever barks excitedly, tail thumping against its leash.

As people around them start to murmur Kotetsu smacks his hand on his forehead.

“And you too, Mr. Wild!” The man stops in front of their bench, his light blue eyes twinkling with cheerfulness.

Kotetsu rises from his seat and throws an arm around the man’s shoulder with enough force to cause the man to bend forward. He presses his face close to the stranger and growls low enough for Barnaby to barely catch the words.

“Oi, can’t you see we’re disguised? What’s the point if you go around shouting Bunny’s name?”

The man immediately looks stricken.

“Oh, I-I’m so sorry!” He turns toward Barnaby and says loud enough for others to hear, “My apologies. I thought you were someone else.”

“Honestly,” Kotetsu grumbles. He slips his arm off the man and jerks his thumb in the stranger’s general direction. “Bunny, meet Keith Goodman. He’s a co-worker of mine.”

Keith nods eagerly. Barnaby greets him shyly, a little overwhelmed by the man’s exuberant familiarity.

“H-have we meet before, Mr. Goodman?”

“Uh…” Keith looks toward Kotetsu, his smile nervous and a little lost. The man rolls his eyes in exasperation.

“He’s your co-worker too. In fact you used to compete against him.”

“Mr. Wild, don’t say it like that!” Keith interjects.

“How else do you want me to say it? It’s true.” Kotetsu plops back onto the bench, sighing. “Anyway, what are you doing here? Normally, you don’t take a day off.”

“Mr. Cromwell insisted I take a break,” Keith says. He rubs behind his dog’s ears. “I’ll be starting again tomorrow.”

“Really? You’d think they’d have you working overtime instead,” says Kotetsu, eyes narrowing. “Especially since they’re short-staffed.”

“Karina and Ivan volunteered to take my spot during break,” Keith explains. He pauses, squinting. “Ah! I just remembered — Nathan wanted me to give you this.”

He digs in his jacket and hands Kotetsu a small item. A pink heart-shaped key with a blunt edge.

“Eh? What’s this?” Kotetsu turns it this way and that, skeptical confusion causing him to raise an eyebrow. “Some kind of present?”

“Nathan said it’s a flash drive,” Keith answers.

A beeping noise interrupts. The band on Keith’s wrist blinks a bright blue.

Barnaby observes with curiosity how both men’s faces instantly become somber.

“Trouble?” Kotetsu asks.

“Looks like they want my help,” says Keith. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“Do you need me?” Kotetsu’s fingers briefly touch his own wristband.

Before Keith can answer, the sky roars with a deafening explosion.  
~*


	5. Chapter 5

Wind slaps Kotetsu, knocking off his cap as dust and stray leaves fly upward with a powerful gust. Keith is gone in an instant, vanishing in the horizon to meet the source of the smoke. The sharp odor of singed matter hits his nose and burns his lungs, a sign indicating the explosion is nearby, too close for Kotetsu to ignore. He’s about to activate his Hundred Power when Barnaby grabs his wrist in panic. The grip is death-tight.

 _Shit._

 _What do I do about Bunny?_

In the moment he hesitates, hundreds of civilians begin to push past them, bodies swarming and generating waves of hysterical violence as the smoke descends low enough to reach the tops of their heads. Everyone is shoving, squirming, stumbling forward, screams and confusion mixing with the contaminated air. As the crowd bifurcates into something resembling a two-headed snake, Barnaby is forced one way, Kotetsu in the other. He can feel his skin stretching with pain, like an elastic band pulled too far back, ready to snap, while Barnaby desperately tries to cling on to his wrist. With every minute, the physical tension from the crowd increases, the two heads of the snake swelling with the mass of human bodies, and despite his best efforts Barnaby's unable to maintain the grip. Kotetsu feels a sudden release of pressure along with the absence of a clammy hand.

“Bunny!” he shouts.

Barnaby’s ashen face disappears in the crowd at the same moment a baby shrieks. Kotetsu jerks his head instinctively in the direction of the cry and sees an infant abandoned on a nearby bench, mouth gaping as tears run down ruddy cheeks. There’s absolutely no sign of a parent attempting to retrieve their child.

Kotetsu screams in frustration, muscles contracting as a blue aura forms around his body.

 _Forgive me, Bunny._

He jumps and scoops up the baby in a split second. He has to make a second jump to avoid colliding with a young man who dashes past in a frenzy. The baby continues to wail as he looks around frantically for a viable escape.

“It’s okay, it’s going to be okay,” he tells the baby, but even he doesn’t quite believe the words. He decides to dive into the forest, leaping between tree branches, to avoid further civilians. The power coursing through his body makes him feel lighter than air, but his heart is heavy with fear.

He runs not in the direction of the smoke but perpendicular to it. He manages to spot an ambulance near the parking area and sprints to a paramedic.

“Oi! This baby needs medical attention!” he shouts.

The other paramedics hurriedly gather the injured, but the one nearest looks up.

“A Hero?” the paramedic mouths, eyes wide with shock, but before she can even begin to ask questions, Kotetsu leaves the baby in her arms and runs off again.

His bracelet flashes twice before a screen pops up.

“Sky High, Fire Emblem, and Rock Bison are being overwhelmed. We’re revoking your current status and demanding you turn to the site of the attack. We’re sending the van near 50th and Madison. The center of attack is the Athena Tower.” Agnes’ voice is harsh and brittle over the intercom.

Kotetsu grits his teeth, aware that he’s already exhausted a minute of his power.

“What about the other Heroes?” he asks. His legs bend and straighten with the flexibility of a bow as he covers the distance of five kilometers in ten seconds. He drops out of the forest and starts to hop between the tops of parked cars, not caring that his feet dent the roofs with his rough landings.

“They’re defending the city’s second level right now. We can’t spare any more Heroes on this level,” Agnes barks. She leaves no room for further questions.

He pushes his muscles, urging his body to sprint faster, racing against time to get to Athena Tower.

In those precious seconds, all he can think about are the lives that are at stake. There’s no time to speculate what’s happened, there’s no time even to think of his partner.

Past the dark, teeming clusters of civilians and the blaring, blocked intersections of traffic, one can see a blur of blue streaking past, arcing through the air against the clouds of thickening smoke and flying ash like a solitary, fleeting beacon of hope.  
~*

 

He reaches Athena Tower to find it completely engulfed in flames. Rock Bison and Fire Emblem are evacuating the civilians while Sky High directs the water from fire trucks onto the building by generating constant streams of wind. Already one can see how the ash has darkened the white tunic of Sky High’s uniform, how Fire Emblem’s crimson cape is obscured with dust, how Rock Bison’s armor is becoming slowly off-colored. Unlike Wild Tiger, the other Heroes do not have the proper means to withstand the stresses of a fire for long periods of time.

Kotetsu coughs, eyes watering, as he watches Sky High extinguish the blaze in a few areas only for the flames re-erupt with increasing force. The newborn flames eat away the skeletons of the highest floors, causing crumbling debris to gather onto the lower levels. If they can’t stop the fire now, the entire building is doomed to collapse.

A sudden screech of tires indicates the van’s arrival. Kotetsu runs and nearly tears off the van’s door in his urgency. He suits up as quickly as possible.

As soon as he’s back outside, he taps the side of his helmet, connecting to Hero TV’s channel.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Firefighters indicate the flames are originating from a machine inside the building. Get inside, locate it with your heat source tracker, and destroy it.”

“Got it.”  
~*

 

 _He’s gone he’s gone he’s gone_

Barnaby suffocates under the strain of heavy bodies as the temperature rises around him, sweat sticking with ash and melting into clothes. He attempts to resist the wave initially, ready to fight against the tide to get back to Kotetsu, but quickly discovers it only increases his likelihood of getting trampled underneath the chaos. His heart is in his throat at the thought of losing Kotetsu, but it’s not only the thing that overwhelms him. The scorch of heat and the stench of ash match the intensity of a sharp, thundering pain in the back of his head, one he hasn’t felt since that night when he started unconsciously drawing strange symbols in a notebook.

 _He promised me he would stay. He promised —_

Smoke condenses from above until it’s almost a solid presence, gagging his mouth, filling his windpipe, sliding down into the cavity of his chest like an ugly, twisted parasite.

 _He left me he left me_ they _left me —_

Without warning, a flood of images invades his mind and blinds him to anything else:

 _/the door is alive and writhing with an angry orange-white glow/_

 _/sweat drips down his temples and glistens in his palms as he watches the flames lick the walls of a room/_

 _/metal groans against the crackling of wood/_

 _/dark, indistinct shapes/_

 _/a shadow turns toward him before being swallowed in light/_

His face goes blank, his body slackening, as he escapes from the reality of the situation into something else, something deeper and buried with the secrets of fire and the echoes of a forgotten past. The mob continues to push him forward, oblivious to his condition.

Past the stony-faced skyscrapers and grand golden statues, above the despairing dance of compressed bodies, smoke strangles the sky and defeats the midday sun, enveloping Sternbild in a portentous eclipse.  
~*

 

Wild Tiger shoots out a wire, aiming for the middle floor of Athena Tower. It tightens as it latches onto a surface. He presses a button that shortens its length and sends him flying. He slices through smoke in his ascent, his armor grating and squealing against glass, generating gold-red sparks before slamming against the exterior wall. He hangs briefly against a window and has to kick through it to get inside the building.

He's completely blind due to the sheer amount of smoke that greets him. His suit immediately supplies him with additional oxygen and shuts off its normal air filters. He doesn’t feel the heat but his face is already sweating.

“Machine, machine,” he mumbles.

The monitor switches to infrared vision, but it hardly helps when the entire building is on fire.

“Tch, how am I going to find it?”

 _Switching from passive to active infrared_

It’s mildly better in that the contrast between different surface temperatures increases.

Kotetsu pushes forward for lack of a better plan. He mentally thanks Dr. Saito for designing a suit that can withstand extreme temperatures, even if the scientist had never bothered with a cooling function.

The moment he decides to turn the corner in one of the long, hazy corridors, his foot knocks sharply against something very hard.

“Tch! That hurts!” He hops on one leg erratically while holding his sore foot.

While he hisses in pain, the suit manages to somehow pick up the sound of a mechanical whirr as well as an extra hot heat source. The glowing white object on his monitor pauses in front of him before spraying a torrent of bone-melting liquid.

“Crap!” He raises his arms to shield himself. He struggles against the blaze as the timer ticks away.

The jets of lava-like fire attempt to gnaw away the material of his armor, but it’s a futile effort. His screen not so helpfully informs him of the rise in temperature as his suit adjusts easily against the flames. Although his armor is able to withstand the attack, the actual pressure from the blaze makes it difficult for him to move at all. Pain spikes in his knees and elbows as they lock and strain against the burden.

He takes a deep breath, pooling what strength he has to the core of his abdomen.

With a burst of energy from his torso, he manages to twist out of the object’s path. Before it has time to correct its target, he pulls back his arm for strike.

 **INITIATING GOOD LUCK MODE!**

He punches at the heat source with all his might. He can feel his fist driving through some kind of reinforced metal, generating fissures as the flames explode around his forearm before spluttering and dying out. It shatters completely just as the power fades from his body.  
~*

 

Kotetsu's relief in being able to destroy the mystery heat source is short-lived however. As Sky High manages to dampen the remaining fires from outside, the smoke clears and reveals the sight of many charred bodies. Kotetsu stands in shock.

 _If I had only arrived earlier... If I hadn't hesitated then..._

The twitch of a body snaps him into action.

"I'm here to save you!" Kotetsu yells. He tries to lift up the seemingly conscious person. "You're going to live, okay? You have to!"

On the right camera, the screen switches from infrared to normal vision, exposing the true extent of the civilian’s injuries.

The person's skin is blackened and peeling and oozing with clear liquid. Eyes are sealed shut, and the mouth gasps weakly for air. What was once a face is disfigured by gaping sections of bright, shining flesh and bone, alternating with thick, bulging spots of charred skin and tissue.

He curses his time limit, wishing he could reach medical help more quickly. He opens up the comm link, sending a simultaneous message to Hero TV headquarters and emergency services, to demand help. He's aware of the many unmoving figures that surround the floor, all already blue and cold on his left infrared monitor, and knows he will mourn each and every one of their lives later. But right now he has to focus on saving those who still had a chance to survive.

"Stay with me," Kotetsu says, almost begging. "You can make it. Help is on the way."  
~*

 

Adrenaline rushes away from his body as he watches an ambulance speed across the road with the final burn victims. His body is suddenly too heavy, his armor too bulky and warm, and it’s an effort to remain standing upright.

He wants nothing else but to be at home, curled up with next to Barnaby in one of their blanket forts, watching television through the slit of the covers.

Except he doesn’t know if his partner is okay.

The frightened and desperate expression on Barnaby’s face as the crowd separated them flashes past his eyes.

He wonders if Barnaby will resent him for leaving. Guilt begins to acidify in the edges of his stomach even as he knows perfectly well that had the situation repeated itself, he would not hesitate to do the same thing.

His old partner would have understood.

But is it fair to treat Barnaby to those standards now, when all the man has is a familiar face and a half-broken promise?

He taps the comm link on his green wrist plate, bringing up a transparent screen.

 _Calling Barnaby Brooks Jr . . ._

After ten rings it sends him to voicemail.  
~*


	6. Chapter 6

Barnaby lifts open his eyes to find himself in a dimly lit and unfamiliar place.

“Good evening,” says a low, kindly voice. A broad face covered in moles greets him with a sad smile. The man, sitting in a chair next to Barnaby’s bed, wears a suit and thick, yellow glasses. He holds his body in a manner that tells Barnaby he’s probably someone important, someone greatly respected.

“You’re in St. Jude’s hospital at the moment,” the man continues. “We found you wandering 20th and Coppenhagen with a sprained wrist. After I informed the hospital staff of your… condition, they wanted you to stay overnight.”

“What about Mr. Kotetsu?” His voice is weak and raspy.

The man frowns.

“He’s currently at work,” the man answers.

The chair creaks as the stranger leans closer to Barnaby.

“In fact I’d like to discuss your situation with him.”

A hand gently touches his shoulder.

“Specifically about removing him as your caretaker.”  
~*

 

Kotetsu wanders the desolate park, his footsteps pressing into the thin, fine layer of settled ash to mark a crooked trail. His phone shines brightly against the cover of nightfall, drawing the attention of flies as it highlights a history of his calls. So far no one had spotted Barnaby during or after the fire.

His finger hovers over the letter “J” before pressing hard. His phone automatically dials a certain number.

“What?” Agnes snaps. In the background he can hear the scratch and rumble of the studio.

“I can’t find Bunny,” he admits. “We got separated during the fire, and no one’s seen him. Have you heard anything?”

“You incompetent fool,” Agnes says. There’s a tightness to her voice that makes Kotetsu wince. “You couldn’t have evacuated him to a safe location at least?”

“You’re the one who ordered me to go to Athena immediately!”

A sigh of frustration explodes from the receiver.

“Forget it. I’ll ask one of the staff to notify you if we get any missing person claims,” Agnes says. She sounds nearly as tired as he is.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

The call terminates with a click.  
~*

 

“You probably don’t remember me, Barnaby,” says the man. “My name is Albert Maverick. I’m the CEO of Hero TV and Kotetsu’s boss.”

The large hand on his shoulder provides tepid warmth, which seeps underneath the paper-thin layer of his gown. He wants to flinch away, but an odd sense of docility relaxes his muscles. It’s an involuntary reaction, one that he’s never felt before. He wonders, not for the first time, just how much his body remembers that his mind had forgotten.

“Kotetsu has been doing an admirable job taking care of you,” Mr. Maverick continues. “But I’m afraid due to recent events he will be needed again as a Hero.”

Slowly, the hand lifts away and rests back on a squat thigh.

“There are some things you need to know about your circumstances,” says Mr. Maverick. “I understand Kotetsu kept you in the dark about many things…”

His gut twists in sour pain. He doesn’t want to know. Not if it’s from someone else. He doesn’t want to know what these strange symbols and hisses of insanity mean. He doesn’t want to know if it means he can’t see Kotetsu again. He doesn’t want their judgment. He just wants the simplicity of living with someone who cared for him, who smiled without restraint.

“Please,” he whispers.

Mr. Maverick pauses, slightly puzzled. Then, his eyes soften in understanding, and he sighs, his wide shoulders slumping just a little.

“It’s all right,” he says, soothing. “You don’t have to be afraid…”

Surprisingly, the pain in Barnaby’s stomach eases at the words. But in his mind, he’s still panicking, still struggling to close off his ears and hide and pretend things were the same as two weeks ago.

The conflicting responses from his body and mind are disorienting. He’s unaware that he’s starting to sweat and tremble as a low voice continues to wash over him.

“Take deep breaths, Barnaby.”

 _Easy there. In and out, just keep breathing in and out, Kotetsu murmurs, stroking his back in broad circles._

He obeys automatically, gasping as air floods his lungs and calms his pounding heartbeat.

“I understand your confusion, but you mustn’t let it take control of you,” says Mr. Maverick. “Keep breathing.”

He waits for the flush on Barnaby’s neck to fade before rising from his seat.

“Why don’t we try this in the morning, when you’re feeling better? It was wrong of me to push you when you’ve already dealt with so much today,” says Mr. Maverick. A regretful frown flashes on his lips as he smoothed the wrinkles of his suit.

"Please get some rest. Goodnight, Barnaby."

When the door shuts, the lights in his room switch off, sending him back into the shelter of shadows and the company of none. Against the darkness, the face of a monitor, gleaming yellow and green, gazes into nowhere as he turns to his side. He can hear a soft, constant beep emitting from one of the machines, but otherwise there’s very little noise.

He closes his eyes to escape from the uncomfortable texture of paper-thin gowns and stiff, starchy beds. He tries to remember the faint scent of citrus and the smooth pressure of arms as they closed around him, whispering indistinct nothings in his ear. Maybe if he can recreate those sensations, he’d fall back to sleep, like he did those times, and he’d wake up to be greeted by the radiance of morning and Kotetsu half-slumped against the bed frame, dozing lightly with arms crossed.  
~*

 

Kotetsu stands underneath the eaves of a rooftop as rain splatters the roads and cleanses them of the debris from the afternoon’s fire. His legs are stiff and pulsating with pain. As he shivers, he follows the threads of his options.

Under strict orders of the company, Barnaby isn’t supposed to appear in the public eye yet. Kotetsu can’t just waltz into a police station and ask for him. He debates filing an anonymous missing person notice of his own when his phone vibrates.

He pulls it to his ear, hope burning in his chest.

“Bunny?”

“I’m afraid not,” a familiar voice drawls. “But I have some news, both good and bad. Which would you like to hear first?”

Kotetsu scowls.

“Give me the bad first.”

“Do you remember that flash drive I sent you? Have you taken a look at it?”

“No, not yet.” His hand goes to his trouser pocket, where he last remembers storing it.

His pocket is empty.

“Well, you should since I went through an _incredible_ amount of trouble to obtain it,” says Nathan. “But let’s not go there. Do you remember noticing anything unique when you were inside Athena Tower?”

He frowns as his mind brings up the images of a crumbling building, of charred bodies, and a glowing machine on his cameras.

“Er… not exactly. Beyond that crazy box thing that was causing the fire.”

“Well, I overheard the police officers chatting after you left. At the top floor, investigators reported finding the executive director. No signs of burns on his body.”

“That’s weird, but I don’t see what’s — ”

“Dear, don’t interrupt when I’m explaining things,” Nathan says sharply. “The executive director’s body had the mark of the Ouroboros slashed on his chest. Nothing else.”

“ _Ouroboros?_ ”

“Right. I’m thinking the attack is hardly some disorganized attempt by a terrorist, as the news likes to present it. They’re sending a message, whoever they are.”

Kotetsu stares at the tiny store in front of him, watching people run for cover as the downpour increases and transforms into rushing currents that meet in the gaps of storm drains.

“…what’s the good news?” he asks tiredly.

“One of my male nurse friends gave me a tip,” Nathan says. “This is breaching all sorts of confidentiality issues but that aside — ”

“Get on with it!”

“I know where Handsome is.”  
~*

 

“Visiting hours are over, sir,” the receptionist says. She clicks something on the screen, not paying attention to the frustrated, dripping wet man in front of her.

“Look, I’m his caretaker,” he says. “Can’t you let me see him just for a second?”

“What is your name, sir? If you are on the authorized list, you may visit after hours,” she says.

“Kotetsu T. Kaburagi.”

She types his name onto the computer and an alert pops open.

“Sorry, sir, but you are not authorized to visit him yet. Please wait until visiting hours. They begin from 9 AM to noon, and then from 1 PM through 5 PM.”

“Why wouldn’t I be on the list?” he demands. “I signed the papers to be his temporary caretaker!”

The receptionist provides a blank, helpless expression, as if saying, _how would I know?_ Kotetsu bites his lip, clamping down hard on the childish urge to shout. It wouldn’t do him any good to take out his stress on an innocent bystander.

She seems to appreciate his effort in restraint as her shoulders relax and her fingers start typing again. A new window pops open, but the screen is tilted away from him, obscuring any details.

“I have a note here that says his caretaker status has changed very recently,” she says. “It seems you weren’t informed.”

His hands slap against the counter, arms flexing. He bends forward, ear pressed close against the perforated window, as though he had missed her statement.

“Miss, could you repeat that?”

“His caretaker status changed approximately five hours after his arrival. I’m sorry, I can’t divulge any more information,” she admits. Her chair swivels as she offers a placating smile.

He pulls away from the receptionist, his chest tight and his legs heavy.

Briefly, he thanks her for the help, and turns away to head back to the main entrance of the hospital. Doors swish shut behind him as new ones open to display a large banner with the faces of happy physicians and patients welcoming visitors. He passes through the entrance and steps outside, back into the assault of icy rain and slick concrete. His hair sticks to the sides of his face as water streams down his skin, soaking his clothes and pooling in his shoes.

He rubs his wet temples, ready to concede. It’s been a long day. Already past ten o’clock. Of course they wouldn’t have visiting hours right now. He doesn't know why he ran all the way to the hospital after Nathan’s phone call. Surely he could have waited until morning?

He runs an aching hand through his drenched bangs, scratching his scalp vigorously.

“What am I doing?” he mutters. “Get a hold of yourself.”

Kotetsu boards the late night bus and takes a seat in the back, forming puddles all over the floor as he does so. His head hits the cushion of the chair with a smack, and he looks up only to see the dead flies gathered in the flickering light fixtures.

His wristband beeps, informing him he has a new voicemail.

Without even looking, his other hand taps the screen to open the message.

“You’re scheduled for a meeting tomorrow at Apollon Media in my office ten o'clock sharp,” Mr. Lloyds says. “Don’t be late.”

After eight seconds, his wristband automatically shuts off the voice mail. A car alarm wails in the distance, adding to the ride's cacophony of rumbles and squeals as the bus navigates Sternbild’s narrower roads.

 _“Next stop, Persephone District.”_

Kotetsu closes his eyes, wishing he still had his cap. Despite his exhaustion, he finds it difficult to feel even remotely like sleeping. He wonders how he’ll fare when he gets home. Possibly a restless night of tossing and turning.

Not that it’d be a novel experience.

He snorts, self-deprecating.

Lady Insomnia always followed a hospital visit after all.  
~*

 

Mr. Maverick returns in the morning as promised. He sits down and explains to Barnaby many things, including the Hero business, his partnership with Kotetsu, and his change in guardianship. Barnaby stops him before Mr. Maverick can delve into his personal history, shrinking away with a rigid spine. They focus the conversation on Kotetsu instead.

“You understand, don’t you?” asks Mr. Maverick kindly. “Kotetsu has always valued saving people above all else — even himself. We can’t ask him to make an impossible decision.”

He swallows, mouth unexpectedly dry.

“Who will be living with me instead?” he asks.

“Dr. Reynolds,” answers Mr. Maverick. “I think you would be more comfortable with someone you’ve seen lately. She will also bring along some of her equipment so she can monitor your health.”

 _“You don’t think he’s crazy, do you?” Kotetsu shouts, his voice ringing from the living room._

He toys with a loose thread on his sheet.

“You’ll be in good hands,” Mr. Maverick reassures. “I’ll also do my best to visit you every now and then.”

Barnaby doesn’t like this arrangement at all, and it shows on his face. But Mr. Maverick only rests a friendly hand on his shoulder, as though he’s a kid needing encouragement.

Just as the man is about to put on his hat and leave, Barnaby speaks up.

“Does Mr. Kotetsu know I’m here?”

A brief pause, before the hat slides over aging temples.

“He should by now,” says Mr. Maverick. “He’s probably extremely busy fighting with the other Heroes to stop more incidences like yesterday from occurring. If you’d like to contact him, I think e-mail would be best.”

After Mr. Maverick leaves, Barnaby stares at the sheets for long time, not really seeing anything. All he can think about is Kotetsu, who appears to have a bigger heart and more selflessness than Barnaby had ever imagined someone having.

It doesn’t surprise him in the least.

But it hurts. Despite knowing that Kotetsu is an intrinsically kind soul, it hurts to think of being placed below the public good.

He hugs his abdomen as the pain returns, this time a slow and acidic burn. He sits like this for hours.  
~*


	7. Chapter 7

STATUS REPORT REGARDING BARNABY BROOKS JR.

 _written by Agnes Joubert  
edited and approved by  
Dr. Cillian Gallagher  
08/01/1978_

As of August 2nd NC1978, Barnaby Brooks Jr. will be placed under the direct, exclusive supervision of Albert Maverick and Dr. Clarissa Reynolds. The plan of care outlined by Dr. Reynolds is designed to help Mr. Brooks meet a full recovery by the end of October. Currently, he is making satisfactory progress in his scheduled examinations and is likely to be able to return to Hero TV without hindrance. His psychological check-ups are sound, indicating Mr. Brooks shows no signs of distress.

At the moment, he is residing in St. Jude’s Medical Center to treat a sprained wrist. His physician has predicted it will heal over the course of three weeks. He will be discharged as soon as the necessary arrangements have been made with his health care team for direct home care.

The direct care is due to a special request by Mr. Maverick for Mr. Brooks to continue to be monitored by his personal physician. Aside from this request, Mr. Maverick has made no remarks regarding the rigor of Mr. Brooks’ schedule as an official Hero representing Apollon Media. _Therefore, it is safe to assume Mr. Brooks will be able to adequately meet the demands of a full-time Hero once he resumes work on the beginning of November._

[…]

 

Mr. Lloyds inspects his fingernails as he waits for Kotetsu to finish reading the document.

At the sound of paper crumbling, he looks up, forked eyebrows raised.

“So you understand the situation now?” Mr. Lloyds asks, bored and impatient. He files the edges of his pinky nail with mastered precision.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Kotetsu growls, all pretense of formality swept underneath barely contained anger. “Do you think you can just pretend he hasn’t lost his freaking _memories_ and expect him to act normal by throwing him back into work?”

“This is not my command,” Mr. Lloyds says. He heaves a dramatic sigh. “It came from the CEO of Apollon Media himself.”

Kotetsu stares, unmoving.

“He’s quite fond of Barnaby after all,” Mr. Lloyds continues. He blows air on the surface of his nails before setting down his filer. “This two month gap really makes things more difficult for me. After all, the selling point of Apollon is your tag-teamwork. Honestly, if it had to be just one Hero, it would have been so much nicer to have Barnaby’s face to sell instead.”

His head snaps backwards as a hand yanks a fistful of an expensive suit, bringing the man’s thin nose inches away from sharp, clenched teeth.

“If it weren’t for the situation we are in now,” says Mr. Lloyds slowly, his mouth twisted in an ugly frown. “I would have had you fired this instant.”

Kotetsu’s nostrils flare, his eyes gleaming cold amber.

Fingers tighten around the collar of Mr. Lloyds’ shirt and the man grunts as fabric stretches and cuts into smooth, unmarred skin.

His arm flexes as he raises Mr. Lloyds’ body from the cushioned chair, just a few centimeters but enough to cause his boss’ eyes to flash in warning.

Kotetsu’s control is unraveling, acquiescing to pent up frustration, and he knows he has to stop before something bad happens. Before he regresses back into that angry, directionless child of thirteen who couldn’t control his powers and broke someone’s jaw with one careless punch. Before he does something reckless enough to cost him the job his family relies on.

His hands loosen their grip and lower deliberately. Mr. Lloyds lands in his seat roughly, chair squeaking backwards. As much as it disgusts Kotetsu’s pride, he also begins to bow.

Formality returns to his voice, stiff and robotic.

“I apologize sincerely. I was out of control,” he says. His voice is subdued, all traces of caustic anger suppressed by forced submission.

Mr. Lloyds purses his lips, displeased. He adjusts the coat of his suit and his tie, giving Kotetsu a look reserved for the vermin found underneath the sole of a shoe.

“Yes, you were,” he agrees. “And for that, I’m docking all of your holiday pay and benefits. Expect to work overtime.”

Still bowing, Kotetsu answers,

“Yes, sir.”  
~*

 

“Oh my, look who decided to show his face.”

“Kotetsu! You’re back!”

Karina looks up from her magazine, a smile forming on her face at the sight of the older man entering the gym. He carries his black duffel bag in one hand and a towel over his shoulder. He has bags under his eyes, but it’s not unexpected. Everyone knew about his role during yesterday’s fire and his relentless assistance in providing the burn victims medical aid. Anyone would be tired from such an excursion.

But what is unexpected is his reaction. He raises a hand in greeting, not meeting anyone’s eyes, and walks off without a word.

Antonio frowns and pulls the headphones from his ears before running after his friend.

“Hey, Kotetsu!”

He halts when Kotetsu reaches the locker room, a hand clenched on the door handle.

“Sorry, but I don’t feel like talking right now,” Kotetsu mutters. Bangs cover his eyes, preventing Antonio from seeing his expression. Fortunately, Antonio knows Kotetsu a lot better than that and immediately picks up on the strangeness in his voice.

“What’s wrong?” Antonio asks. “Did something happen while you were in the build –– ”

The door opens and shuts in Antonio’s face, the echo of metal on metal vibrating in the hallway.

“He wants to be left alone.” He turns to find Nathan with his arms folded and standing a few feet away. His crimson nails tap on muscular biceps. “Looks like more went on than just the fire.”

Antonio grunts in surprise.

“Do you know anything?” he asks, heavy brows furrowing in concern.

“Call it feminine intuition,” says Nathan as one of his fingers trails the outline of his puckered lips. Antonio shoots him a confused look, which causes Nathan to sniff with amusement. He pivots on pink heels and waves the other man to follow him. “We’ll give him a few days to collect himself. Besides -- ”

Nathan's face flattens as his heels pick up pace, expression turning grim.

“It's time for us adults to have a chat.”  
~*

 

Kotetsu sits on the shower bench facing Barnaby’s sleek and hollow suit. There’s even more dust gathered on it now, causing its color to fade from a bright coral red into a lifeless maude.

He chuckles humorlessly.

“They really don’t give a damn about you, do they?” he says.

The suit stares back, its eyes grey and dull.

“Tch! Apollon be damned. All they want is shitty results.”

A towel hits the floor.

At the same moment, one of the nearest light fixtures fizzles out, casting the suit in half-shadow.

“Of course, you were that way too. Half the time you spoke to me it’d be about points, points, points,” Kotetsu continues.

He pauses, a slight and weary smile curving on his lips as he remembers the mishaps of their earlier partnership.

“But at least you cared about others. Put them above points even, if you had to.”

The suit doesn’t respond, stony-faced.

His phone rings, its screen illuminating Kotetsu’s bruised right hand. He picks it up and has to squash the urge to simply hang up. He checks caller ID.

It’s from Agnes.

“We found Barnaby,” she says, and it strikes him how soft and high her voice is. “He’s in St. Jude’s hospital and is about to be discharged in two days.”

His throat hurts. He swallows, wishing he had some water.

“His condition is fine. He had a mild sprain on his wrist, but the nurses said it’s healing nicely.”

He doesn’t want her to hang up. He clutches his phone and asks, “How do you know all this?”

“I visited him with Mr. Maverick yesterday. I wanted to be the one to check his condition and submit the latest report to the Board. They wanted him back on the job immediately after the fire, but this should at least stall them for now.”

His eyes focus on Barnaby’s suit once more. He stands and presses a forefinger on the cheek of its mask. A streak of bright red shimmers against the light when he wipes away the dust.

“Agnes,” he says. “You’re really amazing, you know that? Thank you for letting me know.”

He hears Agnes suck in a breath of surprise, the two seconds of silence indicating he’s managed to catch her off-guard.

“Well, of course I am,” she huffs. “You owe me big time, Tiger.”

He smiles a little at that.

“I promise to pay you back.”

A disbelieving snort.

“Just do your damn job,” she says and hangs up with an abrupt click.  
~*

 

In the morning, a nurse enters Barnaby’s room with three red pills and a glass of water. He traces the hard, unpleasant path of each pill as it travels down his throat. Water, warm from the tap, tastes of bitter minerals. The nurse, pleased to have such a compliant patient, smiles and offers to get him something for breakfast. He declines, deprived of any appetite.

Instead he closes his eyes, sinking into the mattress as he tries to fall back asleep.

A dizzying sensation overrides his equilibrium as the medication takes effect, causing time to melt into a turgid, indistinct collection of moments. His thoughts, cloudy and unfocused, cascade into comforting memories as his limbs become heavy, too sluggish to move, too enraptured by the images flitting across his mind to care.

 _A warm body presses against his, the scent of citrus and metal rising from skin_

 _The murmuring of a low voice as gentle hands massage his back_

 _An embrace, kind and protective,_ promising _him_

 _The glow of candles as they flicker and melt the creamy layer of a birthday cake_

 _A warm kiss on his cheek, followed by infectious laughter_

 _Fire engulfing the walls as a shadowy figure looms above the collapsed bodies of_ —

His bandaged wrist slams against the table stand. With sharp pain returns the frantic beeping of his vital signs monitor and the sterile stench of alcohol wipes. He feels once more the rough fabric of his sheets, now damp with sweat.

Deep breaths. His ribcage heaves as spikes of pain continue to run up and down his arm.

A spot of red catches the edge of his blurry vision.

On the bedside table rests a tray with three red pills and meal plate. The note on top indicates the time it was brought to his room.

 _Meal delivered: 7:30 PM_

He stares, wondering if it was a mistake. Hadn't the nurse asked him about breakfast fifteen minutes ago?

But the windows are too dark to be morning. The dull, heavy pressure in the back of his head and the poor circulation in his legs suggests he has been in bed all day.

An entire day passed without his knowledge.

He throws off the bed sheet as the clues scramble to piece together a logical conclusion.

Those pills.

Those damn, innocent looking pills.

He tosses them into the trash and ignores his dinner. Instead he stumbles out of bed, warm blood pooling down his legs as he limps to the corner of his room. On a chair sits a bag of his belongings, brought to him yesterday by Mr. Maverick and a lady called Miss Agnes. He searches through the bag until his fingers meet the cold, flat surface of his cell phone.

The screen flips open. Displayed on the bottom is an alert that causes his heart to lurch with hope.

 _! KOTETSU T. KABURAGI 11 MISSED CALLS_

He notices the most recent is this morning.

Feeling more grounded that instant than he has in the duration of his hospitalization, he presses the green call button.  
~*

 

Over the next three days, Kotetsu spends the majority of his time either in his suit chasing down criminals or napping in his office. The beep of his wristband wakes him every few hours, indicating he has to dash to Dr. Saito’s lab to put on his armor. He quickly adjusts to seeing the empty capsule beside him as his chest plate and gauntlets snap into place.

Every evening Dr. Saito mutters indistinctly about having to clean the grime and scorch marks off the armor to ensure the logos aren’t obscured. Kotetsu doesn’t have the energy to respond, preferring to throw back a protein drink before he starts nodding off again.

Sometimes the other Heroes are around to apprehend the criminals, giving Kotetsu a little breathing room. During off-hours, there’s only the smog-covered night sky and the green glow of his suit accompanying rapid footfalls and the barrage of artillery. Kotetsu pants, muscles screeching with agony as he pushes the limits of his Hundred Power to its maximum capacity. His powers have a refractory period of an hour — which Mr. Lloyds uses to his advantage — but he’s never had to activate it eight times in a single day before.

On the fourth day, he sprints after the leader of a crime syndicate, waiting for the right moment for his Hundred Power to activate. The lean, sallow-faced man is about to jump onto a helicopter when Kotetsu’s entire body flares with strength. He leaps an impossible distance, landing hard on the helicopter floor, causing it to tilt off-balance. The men inside stupidly decide to try shooting at him and a shower of bullets scatter over reinforced steel walls.

“Stop shooting or you’ll get hurt!” Kotetsu snarls. “I’m here to arrest you, not kill you!”

The leader laughs before putting a gun to his own head.

Kotetsu freezes at the sight of the Ouroboros mark on his hand.

“Wait! Don’t do it!” he shouts. His hand slaps away the gun just as it fires, blasting a hole through the ceiling. A torrent of icy air whistles inside as he grapples the man, attempting to secure a hold.

“I’m arresting you right now,” he growls. “While we wait for the police, I have some questions to ask.”

The leader laughs again and rolls his eyes up toward Wild Tiger’s mask.

“Too late,” the man whispers.

Blood sprays against his white chest armor. The man’s eyes glow a bright blue as he flashes a yellow-toothed smile.

Kotetsu’s arm, which had wrapped around the man’s abdomen to restrain him, is now stuck in the wet and soft flesh of the man’s vital organs. A suctioning force squeezes around his forearm as dark blood pools on the floor.

His Hundred Power expires before he can even react.  
~*

 

“You haven’t been able to reach him since your hospitalization?” Dr. Reynolds asks. “That’s odd, he seemed so conscientious about your health.”

Barnaby grits his teeth as a petite form wanders around his kitchen, opening drawers and cupboards for ingredients. Dr. Reynolds no longer has her white lab coat on, preferring to wear jeans and a pink blouse. Her medical equipment as well as her personal items take up the giant space of his living room. She even brought a blow-up mattress to sleep on during the night.

It feels extremely invasive having her in their — _his_ — home, but he can’t say anything about it.

“Have you taken your meds yet?” Dr. Reynolds asks. A pot clatters onto the stove.

He shakes his head.

“Good. It’s better if you take them after a meal.” She reaches into the refrigerator to take out a carton of milk. “Do you like having milk in your stew? I prefer half and half, but it’s pretty good either way.”

“It doesn’t matter,” says Barnaby. “Please make it however you prefer.”

She shrugs and starts to chop up some root vegetables.

He ignores her humming, and instead focuses on the tiny screen of his cell phone.

 _NO NEW MESSAGES_ , it reads.

Kotetsu hadn’t called since Barnaby had checked his phone in the hospital. Had the man given up trying to reach him, thinking Barnaby didn't want to talk? Or —

His jaw clenches as he frowns, a dark, vague suspicion swirling and taking form in his mind.

 _Or was something strange going on?_  
~*


	8. Chapter 8

Antonio arrives in the morning to find Kotetsu slumped against one of the gym lockers still wearing his under armor. His lightning edged mask stands in stark contrast to dull, bloodshot eyes. They stare blankly at Barnaby’s dusty suit, not even twitching at the sound of footsteps.

Awkwardly, Antonio clears his throat.

“I heard what happened,” he says. Although he speaks softer than usual, his voice seems to boom within the acoustics of the locker room, harsh and too rough. It makes him wince, and he winds up dropping into a whisper.

“It’s not your fault.”

Antonio slides down onto the floor next to Kotetsu, careful to keep a little space between them. He follows his friend’s gaze. Barnaby’s suit, still restrained in its clamps, appears strangely doll-like and barren underneath artificial light. It sends an unpleasant shiver down his spine.

“Your suit had a camera attached to it and recorded everything. It proves your innocence.”

The locker room is eerily silent. He can hear the echo of distant conversations from the hallway.

“Fire Emblem wants us all to meet up,” he mutters, determined to press on. “He suggested your place.”

That seems to stir a reaction. Kotetsu glances at his friend with a brief, flat expression. Antonio catches the sight of dried tear tracks on the side of Kotetsu’s right cheek but refrains from commenting. Instead he waits for a verbal response.

Kotetsu remains quiet as time stretches between them, languid and oppressive like a humid summer’s heat.

As Antonio continues to wait, he grows increasingly uncomfortable. It’s more than a little unnerving to witness his friend like this — Antonio’s only seen Kotetsu once in a similar state and that was a week after the funeral. He had come to his friend’s house to pick up the paperwork for filing an emergency leave from Hero TV. What he found instead were empty cans of alcohol strewn over every surface of the living room. At that time, Kotetsu didn’t say a word the entire visit. Antonio tried his best to comfort his friend, tried even provoking him to rouse a reaction, an emotion, _anything_.

Instead Kotetsu stood up and locked himself in his bedroom. Antonio, at a complete loss and more than simply frustrated, left with the papers.

The next day Kotetsu showed up for work and pretended nothing happened. Although he was still a little subdued, he managed to hide any signs of distress from acquaintances. Only Antonio knew his secret then.

And today, Antonio is witness to another.

A soft exhale whispers and fades in the air. The light in Kotetsu’s eyes returns and his body animates to life.

“I need sleep,” he grumbles. His voice sounds painfully hoarse. “Can you tell Fire Emblem to meet me after I’ve had a good eight hours at least?”

A part of Antonio is relieved to have his friend back. Another part flinches with guilt as he watches Kotetsu slip into a superficial version of himself.

But he can’t say anything about it. Instead he plays along because that’s what Kotetsu wants.

“That can be arranged,” Antonio answers. “We’ll come over a little early to help clean your place up.”

“Thanks.” Kotetsu struggles to lift himself up, arms shaking. “I don’t think I’ve seen it in a month now. Probably have something weird growing in there.”

They get up from the cold, dirty floor. Kotetsu turns the corner to take a shower, and that’s Antonio’s cue to leave.  
~*

 

Nathan gasps and places a delicate hand over his mouth.

“Oh my. I’ve never seen such dark circles underneath someone’s eyes. Should we put some cucumbers on them? Or maybe some cold tea bags?”

Antonio, Nathan, and Keith stand over Kotetsu’s sleeping form, watching as a thin line of drool escapes from the man’s open mouth. He still has his usual slacks and vest on, the only item of clothing actually removed being his hat. Kotetsu sleeps not in bed but on top of it. The covers wrinkle as he rolls over onto his side.

“We should just leave him alone,” says Antonio. “He hasn’t slept for at least four days, according to Dr. Saito.”

Nathan’s expression shifts from comically horrified to dangerously serious in an instant. Antonio can never get adjusted to the other Hero’s rapid switch in attitude and has to take a second to process it.

“What Tiger’s boss ordered him to do was highly illegal,” Nathan says, eyes flashing with suspicion. “Why he didn’t simply tell the man to fuck off is beyond me.”

Antonio sighs, rubbing his temples.

“Kotetsu can never refuse a call for help,” Antonio explains. “He thinks that as a Hero he can’t take a day off.”

Nathan sniffs, his sharp nails scratching the pink fabric of his coat.

“Still so idealistic,” he murmurs.

Keith makes a sound, catching their attention. He stares intently at Kotetsu’s back, a strange brightness appearing in his pale eyes.

“We should help him,” Keith says. “It’s not fair for him to bear the burden of protecting Sternbild alone.”

“No one says he is,” Nathan says. “Although it seems like he was certainly trying hard earlier this week.”

“But if we’re out there working more often, maybe Mr. Wild will feel assured,” Keith argues.

“He has a point,” Antonio says reluctantly.

“If that’s the job you want, honey, you can have it,” Nathan says. “Don’t forget we have other things going on as well.”

Keith blinks before his eyes widen in recognition.

“I’m sorry! I almost forgot,” he says. “Both of you are working so hard already.”

He pumps a determined fist in the air.

“I will work hard too! Please count on me to handle Hero TV while you do what you can to help Barnaby and Mr. Wild,” Keith says.

A groan rises from the bed, causing the three men to jump.

“You guys are freaking noisy,” Kotetsu grouses. He throws a pillow in their general direction and misses completely. “I’m trying to sleep here!”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wild,” Keith whispers. He quickly grabs the pillow and places it back on Kotetsu’s bed.

“Jeez, what does a guy have to do to get eight solid hours of sleep?” Despite his words, Kotetsu sits up. Although his face is drawn with exhaustion, his eyes are wide and alert.

“You can go back to sleep after we have a little chat,” Nathan says. He leans into Kotetsu, his lips forming a playful pout. “I can even give you a good-night kiss if you behave.”  
~*

 

They gather around Kotetsu’s coffee table, which has an impressive layer of dust clouding its glass frame. Keith and Antonio sit right beside Kotetsu, much to his annoyance, while Nathan paces in front of them.

“You remember the night Handsome was first hospitalized, don’t you?” he asks.

Kotetsu snorts. An image of Nathan and the other Heroes dashing into the hospital corridor repeats in his mind. He had been sitting beside Antonio and Keith, in the same position as he is now, when Nathan decided Kotetsu needed to listen to his wild speculations. Kotetsu listened with half an ear then, too distracted with guilt and worry over his partner’s condition to really keep track of what Nathan had been saying. He recalls Antonio and Keith agreeing to something — but that's the extent.

“Do you or don’t you?” Nathan asks impatiently.

“What the hell kind of question is that?” _Stop yapping and just spit it out_ , Kotetsu thinks. Sleep deprived, sore, and considerably stressed means he has little patience for indirect conversations.

Nathan raises his perfectly plucked eyebrows.

“Do you remember what I said about the Ouroboros?”

Kotetsu opens his mouth to respond with a snappy line but finds his memory is a bit dim to really come up with anything. It causes Nathan to sigh.

“A lot went on that night! Don’t give me that look. It’s been over a month already.”

“Did you at least get a chance to look at the data I had Sky High deliver?”

“Uh… well…” Kotetsu scratches his cheek. “I kind of lost it.”

“Lost it,” Nathan repeats. “Do you happen to remember when you lost it?”

“It was during the fire. People were panicking, I got separated from Bunny, and it probably fell out of my pocket or something.”

“Hopeless, hopeless!” Nathan places a hand over his forehead as though he’s about to swoon. “I have no idea why they decided to place a fool like you in charge of Handsome’s well-being.”

“Ugh, never mind that! Just get on with it,” Kotetsu snaps. “What about the Ouroboros? Didn't you say something about how Bunny’s attack was likely deliberate — ”

“If you remember that much, then you can connect the dots, dear.”

“The Ouroboros has something to do with Barnaby’s attack,” Antonio answers, already tired of watching Nathan and Kotetsu snip at one another.

“Well done.” Nathan continues to pace. “Back then I didn’t have a lot of evidence to prove my theory. But with the latest attacks, including the fire and the suicide Tiger witnessed, I think there’s something definitely going on. They’re silencing people, whether it’s within the Ouroboros or outside.”

“You think they wanted to silence Bunny?” Kotetsu asks. The skin on his arms goes clammy from the thought. “Do you think they managed to figure out a way to erase his memories on purpose?”

“It may have been an attack to outright kill him and he got lucky,” Nathan says. “But I wouldn’t rule out your hypothesis either.”

“If that’s the case,” Antonio interrupts. “Then wouldn’t they be trying to silence us as well? You’ve been collecting information about them for over a month now.”

“So have you,” Nathan replies. “Eavesdropping and joining in on bar conversation is just as much collecting information as is breaking into someone’s personal files.”

Keith and Kotetsu exchange worried looks.

“Uh… Fire Emblem? Just how are you doing all of this?” Kotetsu asks warily.

Nathan smirks.

“Some of us have resources and plenty of friends,” he answers smoothly.

“Oi, are you implying I don’t?” Kotetsu asks, annoyed. Antonio jabs him in the ribs to get him to shut up.

“What I wanted to share, before you carelessly lost that flash drive, is that the executive director of Athena Corporation was once entangled in a drug cartel. Maybe he played a bit dirty or didn’t know how to keep himself from getting burned,” Nathan says. “But whatever he did caused the drug cartel to go after him.”

Nathan halts and bends over to grab something from his giant purse. It’s a crisp, photocopied document.

“I had one of my little birdies uncover this piece.”

Kotetsu squints at the document, attempting to read the tiny lines.

“Is this a letter?” he asks. “The person’s handwriting is terrible. And who sends letters in this day and age anyway?”

“This wasn’t mailed,” Nathan says. “It was found in the executive director’s bedroom. It’s a warning from the drug cartel that they’re going to skin him by the balls and hang him in front of all of Sternbild if he doesn't pay ten million for his 'late fee'.”

“Wait, but didn’t you say that guy was the one with the Ouroboros mark scratched on him?” Kotetsu frowns as he tries to recall more of their earlier conversation.

“Hmm, yes. Which is why I’m starting to think the drug cartel and Ouroboros are one and the same. It may even be that the drug cartel is simply a branch of the Ouroboros.”

“And what about Bunny’s attack?” The document crunches in Kotetsu’s fist. “Wasn’t it official that a NEXT attacked him?”

“There could be NEXTs working for the Ouroboros,” Antonio says. “It’s not exactly a stretch.”

Kotetsu pushes himself against the cushion of the couch. He can feel a tension headache forming in the backs of his temples.

“What do we do now?” he asks wearily.

“We gather more data,” says Nathan, “until we’re absolutely certain Ouroboros is a massive crime syndicate. I want to at least get enough information to be able to prevent the next attacks from occurring. If we can predict their movements it means we save more lives.”

The tension headache begins to hammer on the edges of Kotetsu’s skull.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks. “Sounds like you and Antonio have been snooping around plenty.”

A heavy weight crashes onto his thighs as Nathan decides to use his lap as a seat. Keith and Antonio scoot away quickly on opposite sides. Nathan wraps his arms around Kotetsu in an almost too tight embrace, generating a choked grunt.

“Darling, your job is to keep an eye on Handsome,” he purrs.

“Uh… maybe no one’s told you yet but I’m no longer his caretaker.” Kotetsu growls as Nathan decides to pinch his cheeks hard.

“Actually, it seems like no one’s told _you_ yet.” Nathan smiles sweetly. “I had a pleasant chat with Miss Joubert this morning. It seems your little rabbit had an incident last night with his new caretaker.”  
~*


	9. Chapter 9

Dr. Reynolds watches Barnaby place three red pills in his mouth. As he swallows some water, the bitterness melts on the underside of his tongue. He waits for Dr. Reynolds to scribble down a note to record the time he “ingested” his medication before standing up to mutter an excuse about wanting to check his e-mail. She pays him no mind as she leafs through his medical history, her pale lips drawn in a tight frown of concentration.

When he’s in the safety of his bedroom, he spits out the sticky mess into tissue paper. He folds it carefully, ensuring no signs of bloody red seep through the layers. He hides the evidence in his trash and throws an old magazine over the top.

Maybe he’s being paranoid. Maybe the pills aren't what caused him to forget an entire day in the hospital.

But he doesn’t want to take any chances.

He pulls out his cell phone once more to stare at its screen.

 _NO NEW MESSAGES_

Maybe Kotetsu is simply too busy to call. After all the man had a life of his own before he decided to take care of his amnesiac partner two weeks prior.

…Partner?

That’s right. It’s strange to think about Kotetsu as a co-worker, but it makes sense. The little slips of information Barnaby attentively followed during the man’s stay correlated with the story Mr. Maverick explained to him at the hospital:

 _“You two were the first Heroes to ever team up on television,” Mr. Maverick says. “Both of you got off onto a rough start, but you had some amazing moments of synchronicity when you fought together.”_

 _A tendril of heat rises inside of him, evolving into a muted ache of longing as it surfaced to the muscles of his chest._

 _“More importantly, you watched each other’s backs. You would always jump to Kotetsu’s rescue when he needed it. And Kotetsu wouldn’t ever hesitate to take a direct attack for you — even if he didn’t have his suit.”_

 _Mr. Maverick smiles and hands him a small card._

 _“Despite your problems, I think you made an excellent team.”_

 _Barnaby flips over the card to find a picture of two figures in armored suits standing back-to-back, arms raised as though about to execute an attack. On the left, streaks of fluorescent emerald line the edges of a muscular grey torso and frame the semi-transparent spikes of pauldrons. Immediately, Barnaby knows that is Kotetsu; the confident and fierce line of his posture tells all. Beside him is a suited figure in red-white-grey armor, standing with quiet intensity flashing in azure eyes and tight fists._

 _He doesn’t recognize this figure._

 _“You were quite popular,” Mr. Maverick says. The tip of a blunt finger taps on the figure in red. “Being much younger than Kotetsu, yet having the same powers, made you a favorite in the company.”_

 _That’s not me, he wants to say. I don’t know that person._

 _“In fact there was pressure to separate you two. But I insisted. I think your partnership with Kotetsu helped you in many ways, although you may not remember now.”_

Barnaby squeezes his eyes shut as the sting of longing returns.

He wants to be by Kotetsu’s side. He doesn’t want to spend the rest of his days examined and monitored and analyzed by not-familiar faces. He wants to feel the heady rush of excitement that came when he and Kotetsu played paintball in cold, dense forests. He wants the easy acceptance of company, the unconditional support of a partner when he awoke from visions of serpents and fire.

His knuckles whiten as his hands grip the sides of his head. Like a thunderclap, a migraine splits through bone and spongy tissue, singing into his brain the scars of vague memories and irrational anger. He stumbles into bed and curls up in his sheets, waiting for the chaos to subside.

Slowly, like a tide pulling away from the shore to reveal barren, caked earth, the pain leaves his body.

He lies there between the sheets, which no longer smell like anything but stale cotton, and whispers,

“Kotetsu.”

Just the act of calling out conjures an image of the man. Kotetsu stands, his body tilted slightly away from Barnaby, with one hand on his cap. Lips quirk into an easy smile as long bangs hide the mischievous sparkle in his eyes. The other hand reaches out, inviting with an open palm, for Barnaby to reach him.

For the rest of the night, Barnaby pretends to feel the sensation of a warm hand as it pulls him into a tight embrace. He pretends to feel strong arms encircling his torso as whiskers brush against his cheek. He pretends to hear Kotetsu murmuring in his ear an indistinct lullaby of reassurances.

He pretends, until the cold of morning and the sound of Dr. Reynolds knocking on his door causes Kotetsu to evaporate from his eyes.  
~*

 

A few more stifling days pass. A few more red pills are thrown in the basket. A few more sleepless nights.

He finds when he falls asleep, the visions of bodies and flames return with visceral clarity. Just before he can catch the facial features of prone figures and a shadowy frame, he awakes covered in sweat, his skin flaring with fever as though he had just been inside that very room.

Immediately upon waking, he finds himself escaping into fantasy again, escaping into the arms of someone who no longer had the responsibility to care.

The vicious cycle of nightmares and pretending repeats itself until the first watery rays of light filter through his blinds.

On the third day, he comes to a conclusion.

In this state, he can’t do anything but be a cowering, kept dog under the watchful surveillance of his physician.

If he wants to be by Kotetsu’s side, even if it is merely to chase away the worst of his nightmares, he needs to find a way to get back to work.

Barnaby types quickly on his laptop, eyes bleary from lack of restful sleep, as he tries to uncover what he can about his past as a Hero. He finds plenty of press coverage that describes the most superficial elements of his former personality as well as videos of him and Kotetsu doing things like charity work. It’s much harder to hunt down the videos of him fighting. Hero TV licensed the previous seasons with an iron lock so he has to visit foreign websites to find the right footage.

When he watches the first video, his heart sinks.

Whatever Mr. Maverick said about their great teamwork appears to be disingenuous, if not an outright lie. On the tiny screen, he and Kotetsu are squabbling viciously about a strategy to recover the hostages inside a hotel. He listens to his own voice drip with condescension and irritation as he throws thinly veiled insults at his partner, causing Kotetsu to snap back with matched vigor. It almost escalates into a physical confrontation when a high, feminine voice reminds them of their narrow window of opportunity for mission success.

The video stream ends just as they decide to storm the hotel separately, their suits a blur of green and red light.

Barnaby tries another video, wondering if it had just been a bad day for both of them.

He finds a video that streams shaky footage from a private camcorder. It’s a recording of them fighting –– separately again, he notes with dismay –– while a giant statue rampaged the streets. At one point something bright wraps around the surface of his armor, yanking him away from the statue. The camcorder trembles for about two minutes before refocusing on ground level to display Kotetsu and Barnaby entangled in wire. They bicker at one another as the statue stomps toward them, a giant hammer raised and ready to crush them like bugs. The video feed cuts off after two more seconds, leaving the viewer to guess what would come next.

Depressed, Barnaby shuts off his laptop and goes to curl up in bed again. This time, his fantasies involve the crack and pop of paintballs and the breathless laughter that rises from his partner as they crouch behind trees.

 _“What do you think we should do, Bunny?” Kotetsu asks. He fills up his carton with eggshell pink balls._

 _“Why don’t I try distracting them by attacking and evading from the distance? I think I can sprint fast enough to avoid them if it’s necessary,” Barnaby says._

 _“Heh, leaving me to deal with your cover?” Kotetsu smirks._

 _“Uh — if you don’t like that plan, Mr. Kotetsu, we can come up with another one.”_

 _Kotetsu snaps the lid of the carton shut before kneeling close. Behind thick goggles are eyes bright with anticipation._

 _“Nah, that sounds good. Let’s get ‘em.”_

His eyes slide shut as memories and dreams begin to infuse into mere wisps of wanting.  
~*

 

The next morning Barnaby speaks very little, preferring to nod or shake his head when necessary. Dr. Reynolds isn’t happy with the change but doesn’t force him talk. Instead she spends some time observing his behavior, scratching more illegible notes onto her notepad, as though by dictating her observations she could come up with an explanation.

He finds he no longer cares if she thinks he’s unstable or paranoid or insane.

Having finished his plate of breakfast casserole, he leaves the table and heads back to bed. He doesn’t feel like doing much of anything else.  
~*

 

When Barnaby regains consciousness he finds himself looming over Dr. Reynolds, who lies supine amongst crumbling plaster and a broken chair. His skin exudes feverish heat as though he’s just woken from another nightmare, but he doesn’t remember dreaming about smoke and fire.

All he remembers is morning, when Dr. Reynolds served him breakfast.

He realizes at that moment a critical detail, one he overlooked in his sleep-deprived state.

Dr. Reynolds hadn’t offered him the red pills at breakfast.

Now she groans, her pale arms bruised and bleeding, as she struggles to move.

“What are you trying to do?” Barnaby’s voice is dead calm, even as vertigo and fury sweep his mind and dilate his veins with hot liquid. The heat on his skin radiates as he stares down Dr. Reynolds, who flinches as the bedroom fills with light that is far brighter than any of his lamps. It blinds the expression on his face and causes Dr. Reynolds to cry out.

“Tell me,” he whispers. His pupils are pinpoints, lost in a blaze of blue.

“Y-you weren’t s-sleeping,” she sobs. “E-every night you would scream for hours. I didn’t know w-what to do!”

“I hate those pills,” he says. “They make me forget.”

Her tear-streaked face contorts in shock.

“I-I didn’t know,” she repeats. A desperate edge enters her voice. “Please, Barnaby. I didn’t know.”

Light begins to dim, eclipsing his bedroom back into its original darkness.

As though waking from a second dream, Barnaby finds himself once again standing before Dr. Reynolds. A shuddering breath escapes from his mouth while acid hits the back of his throat. Clammy sweat replaces feverish heat as he steps away from his distraught physician. The back of his hand finds the door, which is slightly ajar. He allows the light from the hallway to provide a little guidance.

He steps numbly into the bathroom to grab a first-aid kit. He avoids his reflection.

When he returns, he finds Dr. Reynolds has stopped crying. Her blouse is torn in several places and so are her jeans. Dust and plaster cover her entire body, powdering her dark hair with beige and flakes of blue paint. She cringes when he sets the kit beside her feet.

Somehow an apology doesn’t seem sufficient.

Instead he leaves his cell phone on top of the plastic box of alcohol and sewing needles and spends the rest of the night curled against the toilet, his head in his hands.  
~*

 

Kotetsu hears the story from Agnes, who he hasn’t seen in person since the attack. They stand within the privacy of one of the studio offices. Her make-up is a bit thicker, covering any signs of fatigue with blush and foundation, and her expression shifts from irritated to pissed off the entire time he’s there. She doesn’t even bother to look at him; fixated on her smart phone, she deals with e-mails and contacts as she spits out an explanation.

“Dr. Reynolds discovered Barnaby was still suffering from nightmares and having random panic attacks during the day,” Agnes says. Her finger swipes the screen to scroll down to an unread message. “She also realized he wasn’t taking his antidepressants at some point.”

Kotetsu blinks, eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“What? That doesn’t sound like him.”

“She decided to sneak in his daily dosage inside a casserole dish in hopes that Barnaby would calm down,” Agnes continues. She huffs in disgust. “She says Barnaby ended up sleeping the entire day. It wasn’t until evening that all hell broke loose.”

Kotetsu frowns as his fingers absentmindedly twirl a pen. Things didn’t seem to be quite adding up… after all, Barnaby never refused to take his medication in the past.

“She found him in his bedroom trying to scratch some kind of symbol on the walls with his bare fingers. When she got near him to ask what he was doing, he activated his powers and shoved her all the way across the room, breaking one of her arms in the process.”

The pen clatters to the floor.

“She says that he looked like he wanted to murder her -– she’s never seen someone that angry in her life. Luckily, his powers ran out within their time limit and it seemed to bring him to his senses.”

“…was he conscious when he attacked her?” Kotetsu asks quietly.

Agnes shoots him a frosty glare.

“According to Dr. Reynolds, he seemed to regain consciousness after he activated his powers.”

Kotetsu runs a hand through his hair, revealing the tautness of a tensed neck and shoulders.

“And so I’m supposed to be a bodyguard for her during the evening to ensure he doesn’t attack her again?”

“Yes. Mr. Lloyds gave permission for you to work only the afternoon shift. Sky High graciously volunteered to cover your night sessions.” Agnes’ phone vibrates. Without even concluding their meeting with a good-bye, she storms off, talking rapidly on the phone with an advertiser about the latest financial mishap.

Kotetsu shrugs, now so used to Agnes’ ways that he can no longer find the desire to be offended.

Not a second later the alarm on his wristband flashes, indicating he needs to rush to Dr. Saito’s lab yet again. A transparent screen pops up, displaying Agnes’ bushy bearded assistant, who raises his eyebrows and says,

“Fire on Roosevelt. Blue Rose is on the scene but she’s requesting help.”

“Roger.” He slips on his mask as he runs through the corridors of Apollon Media.  
~*

 

He and Blue Rose spend a good hour putting out the fire -– well, Blue Rose puts out the fire while Kotetsu struggles through a scorching building to locate the contraption causing it. He manages to break it magnificently, and this time he takes the pieces to the city’s investigators for identification.

“I’m so sick of these fires!” Blue Rose groans. She places her freezes rays back into her thigh holsters and folds her arms. “They’ve been all over the place ever since last week.”

“No kidding,” Kotetsu replies. He lifts the visor of his helmet to stare at the charred walls of a dingy motel.

“You could have gotten here sooner by the way,” Blue Rose says. “It would’ve lessened the damage.”

“Doesn’t really matter since everyone evacuated before the fire, does it?”

She sighs and places a hand on her cheek.

“You’re always like this.”

The alarm on his wrist plate beeps. He pushes a button that causes a complicated set of machinery to pop up like a Goldberg gadget before presenting him the time.

“Sorry, Rose, but I’ve gotta run,” he says. “I’m going to be late.”

He runs into the van to switch out of his suit. The smell of smoke stubbornly clings onto his civilian attire, but he has no time to fix it. He hops on the bus just before the doors shut, nearly crashing into the driver in the process and almost spilling his coins down the stairs, all in an effort to arrive at a certain high-rise apartment.  
~*

 

Barnaby hears the rebroadcast of the latest Hero TV episode from his bedroom. He grits his teeth, wanting to yell at the bodyguard who appeared to be making himself at home in the living room. He’s about to throw a pillow over his ears when he catches a reference to Kotetsu’s moniker.

“And Wild Tiger enters the building! Folks, it looks like it’s about collapse at any minute! Can he make it in time to stop the fire?” the announcer shouts.

He sits in bed as the muffled sound of helicopter propellers and dramatic music reaches his bedroom.

“Ah, what’s this? It looks like the main entrance has been sealed shut by the fire! How will he get out of this one?”

 _Shut up_ , Barnaby thinks. _Your voice is annoying._

“Wait! He’s escaping from the window of the third floor! And he’s got something with him!”

The doorbell rings, interrupting the swell of music and the blast of an audience cheering.

He ignores it and shoves a pillow over his head in attempt to block out at least part of the racket.

Thankfully, in a few minutes, the living room goes silent. He sighs in relief, assuming the bodyguard must have finished watching the show.

He almost doesn’t catch the creaking of floorboards under light footsteps in the sudden quiet. He shrinks into his covers, not wanting to deal with anyone at the moment. Especially if it’s Dr. Reynolds, who now treats him like a wild animal she needs to supervise.

The door opens softly. He lies very still in hopes that the door would shut on its own.

“Hey, Bunny.”

He jerks up from the bed, eyes widening.

Standing in the doorway is Kotetsu, smelling of smoke and wood and metal. His face is flushed and sweaty, dark bangs sticking against his temples. He still has his black domino mask on but it doesn’t hide the genuine smile that escapes from his lips.

“Mind if I stay over for the night?” Kotetsu asks. He rubs the back of his head. “My place is kind of far.”

Barnaby opens his mouth to answer yes, but something else comes out entirely:

“You came back.”

“They let me work part-time,” Kotetsu explains. He crosses the distance between the door and the bed to kneel beside Barnaby. His partner grabs his right hand, which has an odd pattern of bruises and cuts from the night before. Kotetsu squeezes his fingers just enough for Barnaby to feel the pressure. It makes his skin run hot and cold — burning from the shock of real, warm contact only to be cooled with the sheer sensation of relief — and Barnaby doesn't know what to do except savor the reaction.

“I’ll be taking over the night shift. Dr. Reynolds requested me specifically.”

“Oh.” An immense surge of disappointment cascades down his body.

“And it’s a good thing she did because I wouldn’t be able to see you otherwise.”

He looks up from his lap to find Kotetsu staring at him with a mixture of compassion and concern. Something else lurks beneath those two emotions — something he’s tempted to call fondness but that isn’t quite right — sympathy? Affection? Whatever it is, it reassures Barnaby, loosening the rigid bonds of anxiety to allow a sense of calmness to finally override his turbulent emotions.

In response, Barnaby carefully and deliberately shifts his right hand, turning it over to allow their palms to touch. His fingers intertwine with Kotetsu’s and squeeze back.

Quickly, he lowers his head, blond curls hiding a faint smile as he whispers,

"I missed you, Mr. Kotetsu."  
~*


	10. Chapter 10

Dr. Reynolds speaks nervously with Kotetsu in the kitchen, explaining his duties for the night while one hand clutches a white cast. His job is to record any more instances of nightmares, panic attacks, and unusual behavior as well as deliver Barnaby his medicine. A yellow notepad rests at his side as he listens attentively, mouth drawn in a deep frown of concentration. When Dr. Reynolds gestures with her uninjured hand over the paperwork scattered on the counter, he can’t help but notice the neat rows of stitches running down her slim, freckled arm.

“I’ll be conducting an exam on him first thing in the morning,” she says quietly. “There’s a chance that the day guard won’t be here by six…”

“I can stay a few more hours,” he says. Relief is palpable on her ashen face and it generates a pang of sympathy. Naturally, Kotetsu isn’t a stranger to the reactions of normal people after seeing a NEXT out of control.

“Thank you,” she says. “I can pay you for the overtime — ”

He waves her off. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Kaburagi?”

His thumb rubs along the rough ridges of the yellow notepad. He stares at the thin blue lines and says,

“I’m not doing this as a job. He’s my partner.”

At a loss for words, Dr. Reynolds averts her gaze, busying herself by collecting an assortment of medical documents into a tidy pile.  
~*

 

When Kotetsu enters the bedroom with water and two white pills, the expression on Barnaby’s face sends a spike of shock through his body, nearly causing him to stumble and drop the glass.

For a second, it’s as though the old Barnaby has returned.

A pale face reveals narrowed green eyes, sharp and burning with ill-repressed ire. Lips twist in an angry scowl; he can almost hear the stiff, irritated tone ringing in the air:

 _What do you want, old man? Please stop bothering me already._

The ghost fades when Barnaby’s scowl transforms into a pleading look, silently imploring him to ignore the pills. Kotetsu glances at the spider web of cracks and fissures extending from the closet wall and the grey film of plaster dust lining the carpet. Agnes’ sharp explanation repeats in his mind as a warning.

“Dr. Reynolds said these shouldn’t make you forget,” Kotetsu explains. “They’re only meant to help you sleep.”

No response.

He adds a little light-heartedness behind his words.

“C’mon, Bunny. It’s not that bad. These things are so tiny you won’t even feel them.”

Lips tighten in defiance.

Kotetsu sighs and glances up at the ceiling, squinting as he tries to come up with an idea. He changes tactics.

“Oi, if you don’t get enough sleep, you’ll ruin your health,” he says, using his best parenting voice.

Barnaby doesn’t budge.

“Mr. Kotetsu, I don’t need them.”

He clicks his tongue in annoyance.

“People tell me that you haven’t been sleeping regularly since the fire,” Kotetsu says. He gives a stern, but concerned expression to show he’s not easily fooled. “I think it’s better for you to take them.”

He bends over a little, the tray inching closer to Barnaby’s bed until it’s directly underneath the man’s nose. Cold fingers wrap around Kotetsu’s wrist, covering his green bracelet. The tray twitches, water splashing over fingers from the sudden movement.

“With you here, I don’t need them,” Barnaby says. There’s a stubbornness to his words that reminds Kotetsu of their old arguments.

He decides to come up with a compromise, not wanting this to escalate into a fight.

“Okay, fine. Why don’t we try just this night without the pills? If you’re still having trouble sleeping, you take them tomorrow. If you don’t have trouble sleeping, I can tell Dr. Reynolds to adjust your medication. Sound good?”

The fingers loosen slightly.

“Okay,” Barnaby says. “But only if you’ll sleep with me in bed.”

Kotetsu splutters, his body lurching backwards in surprise. In his clumsiness, the tray overturns, water spilling over the carpet as the glass lands with a dull thunk. The pills roll and disappear underneath the bed, the tray now lying face down at Kotetsu’s feet. Barnaby maintains a firm grip on his wrist to prevent him from toppling over as well and stares with complete seriousness.

“J-just sleeping?” he asks, the question rising in pitch before cracking. The hand on his wrist feels strangely hot now, and he can sense a slight dampness pressing against his skin, warming it quickly.

Green eyes blink once, twice.

“Of course,” Barnaby says. He lets go of the wrist and opens up the sheets, scooting over to give Kotetsu room to slip in. Fortunately, the bed is actually quite large, which means neither of them would be cramped on one side if someone decides to shift in their —

Wait. What is he thinking?

“Bunny, I’m not here for a sleepover,” he says, frowning. “I'm supposed to watch you for the night.”

“You don’t have to sit in a chair to do that,” Barnaby points out. “And I won’t tell.”

A flush of embarrassment rushes to his ears and neck.

“Isn’t that a little weird though?” he asks. He raises his hands up to his chest defensively.

“Please, Mr. Kotetsu? It’ll help me sleep.”

For a moment, Kotetsu considers pulling the covers back over the mattress and grabbing a chair to sit on in one of the far corners of the room. Then he remembers Barnaby’s austere sense of aesthetics, meaning the only chairs available in the apartment are either stuck in the kitchen or occupied by Dr. Reynolds in the living room. As an alternative, he considers rolling out a sleeping bag onto the floor like he did during their first few weeks. He also considers telling Barnaby outright that it’s awkward for grown men to sleep together in the same bed and that he takes this job seriously, even if it means slumping against the wall to watch his partner do nothing but snore for eight hours.

But instead of doing any of those things, he finds himself loosening his tie and toeing off his shoes.

“I stink,” he says. “Don’t complain if you regret it later.”

A small, satisfied smile answers as he slips underneath the covers.

“I promise I won’t, Mr. Kotetsu.”  
~*

 

Kotetsu stares at the ceiling in bemusement, watching as the shadows creep along its length and drip down the cracks of walls. Despite the coziness of the bed, he doesn’t feel the least bit drowsy. Instead, he waits for the hours to tick by, listening for any sudden changes in Barnaby’s breathing, any tensing of muscles, any sign indicating his partner is about to catapult into another nightmare, or worse — another violent episode.

He can’t help but remember Dr. Reynolds’ guarded posture as she gingerly lifted her papers with a stitched up arm, can’t ignore the depression in the wall and the scratch marks on Barnaby’s fingers, nor the dark, angry look that flashed across his partner’s face at the sight of two white pills.

If Barnaby loses control again, Kotetsu could take him. Could restrain him long enough for Dr. Reynolds to run in and sedate the man.

But he’s not sure if he could bring his partner back, could talk him out of the violence triggered by a fragmented mind.

He’s only ever managed to lull Barnaby back to sleep after the terror departs, never during.

As the man sleeps peacefully beside him, Kotetsu sighs softly. It’s been four incident-free hours. But in a way, it only heightens the anticipation, because he knows just how persistent those nightmares can be even with his presence. He can’t recall many nights during those two weeks when Barnaby didn’t wake up screaming or thrashing in the covers.

Which is why he doesn’t understand how Barnaby’s come to the conclusion that having him nearby will solve things. It’s a strange request, but a lot about Barnaby’s behavior over the past month has been strange. Kotetsu isn’t sure if he should continue to take it in stride or heed it as a warning — after Nathan’s theories about the NEXT attack, it’s chilling to compare his partner’s current and former personalities. He doesn’t want to dwell on the implications, because it’ll only confuse him and make dealing with his partner more difficult. He’s not like Nathan or Agnes; he can’t handle all that complicated stuff about the Ouroboros conspiracy or Hero TV politics. It’s easier to focus on something more immediate, like doing his job or watching over his partner.

His heart jumps at the sound of rustling sheets. Barnaby turns over, his body angled toward Kotetsu, a stray lock of blond hair brushing his cheek in the process. Against moonlight, his partner’s face is smooth and pale as marble with the faintest bruises shadowing closed eyes. There’s a slight smile that softens Barnaby’s features and makes him look painfully young and vulnerable, as though all of his defenses have been stripped away.

Kotetsu doesn’t like it.

It doesn’t feel right.

Arms tighten around his as though sensing his disquiet. Barnaby shifts again in his sleep, causing more hair to rub against Kotetsu’s skin while a sharp chin digs into the crook of his shoulder.

He grunts, feeling awkward and bewildered. He can’t move, because, hell, his partner has the grip of a possessive crab, and even if he _could_ move, he wouldn’t want to accidentally wake the man and disturb his sleep. Not to mention there’s this expression that emerges on Barnaby’s face, like he’s somehow content, maybe even _happy_ , to have someone to cuddle.

It reminds him of the time Barnaby held his favorite childhood toy in his hands, fondness defrosting a normally icy exterior, transforming him into something less than an arrogant jerk. Kotetsu was surprised then, a little amused, to discover such a childish part of the man.

He doesn’t want that expression to go away, even if it means dealing with bodily discomfort. He’s not sure why, but he gets the feeling it’s not often the old Barnaby had the luxury to allow himself to relax, not when he seemed so uptight and driven by revenge.

So now he’s stuck, for better or worse. Trapped by a clingy partner, trapped by his own thoughts.

The night is long, and his eyes are burning from fatigue by the time the sun peeks through the windows. Kotetsu thinks he should probably start drinking coffee more often since a sluggish body and a foggy mind are useless on the job. His Hundred Power could erase the exhaustion temporarily, but he knows it would only cause the effects of sleep deprivation to hit harder once the blue aura fades from his body. He’s never liked crashing, since it usually means blacking out and waking up somewhere with drool running down his chin. He doubts the secretary would appreciate finding him face-planted over the paperwork.

He’s not sure if Mr. Lloyds and Dr. Reynolds expect him to sleep three hours a day, or be like one of those traveling musicians who gets by on naps and stimulants. It’s ridiculous, and in any other circumstance he would complain, but when the city’s been ravaged by fires and his partner’s had a breakdown, he finds he can’t bring it in himself to refuse to help.

Looks like he and coffee will have to become close friends.  
~*

 

Slow, blinking lashes reveal bright jade. Confusion, then surprised delight, greets Kotetsu in the morning.

“How long can you stay?” Barnaby asks, his voice soft and husky from sleep.

“A few more hours,” Kotetsu answers.

He pries himself from Barnaby’s embrace, muttering some excuse about needing to use the bathroom. His muscles are stiff and unhappy as he stumbles out of bed. He has to fight down a groan, not wanting to worry his partner, and does his best to try to hide the dark circles under his eyes by brushing his bangs closer to the front.

Inside the bathroom, he splashes cold water over his skin to regain alertness. He examines his reflection, noticing some stubble darkening his jawline, and decides to open the drawer to take out a razor. Inside there’s two — one green and one red — and he uses the green one to smooth the edges of his chin.

“Mr. Kotetsu?”

He nearly nicks himself in surprise and glances at Barnaby, who’s still wearing his red and white pajamas.

“What is it, Bunny?” he asks. He resumes shaving with more caution.

“I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Hmm? Oh, you mean about sleeping. Well, one night doesn’t really mean that you should — ” Kotetsu catches Barnaby’s crestfallen frown and has to backtrack clumsily, “ — ah ah ah, uhhhh, I m-mean I did say I’d talk to Dr. Reynolds so don’t worry about that! But she might still make you take the pills, y’know. Just as a heads up.”

“She can’t make me do anything.”

Kotetsu wants to roll his eyes in exasperation. Well, guess Barnaby’s stubbornness would never change, amnesia or no amnesia.

“She’s your doctor. We wouldn’t want to get in trouble with her, do we?” he says reasonably. “She’s also your official guardian. Well, one of them.”

Barnaby responds with an annoyed sniff, a sound that Kotetsu usually hears directed at him whenever he does something to irk the man.

He washes off the foam and dabbles some aftershave on his skin. Barnaby watches the entire time, either because he finds shaving to be an interesting spectator sport or because he’s waiting to use the bathroom. At this point, he’s too tired to really care about Barnaby trailing him like a puppy, and it makes his job easier anyway, since the man’s always in his sight. Dr. Reynolds does raise an eyebrow when Barnaby follows him around the kitchen, but refrains from commenting as she types something on her netbook.

Kotetsu stays until mid-morning, right up to the moment Dr. Reynolds places electrodes on Barnaby’s scalp to measure something he probably can’t pronounce. When the day guard finally comes in grumbling about a traffic collision, he gives Barnaby a quick smile and a reassuring squeeze of a hand, promising to come back after dinner.

He arrives at work by nine, which gives him an extra half hour before he has to clock in. Kotetsu changes out of his clothes in the locker room, stuffing his old ones into his bulging sports bag, before heading to his office to catch up on e-mail. As always, he sits next to an empty and tidy desk.

 **INBOX (3):**

 **Alexander Lloyds – Regarding the November Interview in Apollon Times  
Mary Wong – Notice of Latest Fines: Reply ASAP  
Fire Emblem – Here’s a Good Meeting Place for Next Time~ <3**

He clicks on the third link and finds it only contains a picture of a seedy motel. For a few good sleep-deprived seconds, he stares hard at the photograph, wondering what the hell Nathan’s doing sending him pictures like this over his work e-mail.

Then he notices the motel squats on a blurry but distinguishable street corner.

Roosevelt. It’s a picture of the motel that caught on fire yesterday.

If Nathan’s sending this… did that mean the fire in that motel is also related to the latest string of Ouroboros attacks?

He types out a quick reply, eyes darting around the office nervously.

 _What sort of man do you think I am? Come up with a better place and I’ll treat you. – T_

Within ten minutes, he receives a response.

 _Oh please, you’re no gentleman. But if you insist… let’s grab a couple of drinks. I’ll invite a friend to play. – F_

He frowns, knowing his guard schedule would conflict with any decent bar hours.

 _As much as I’d hate to disappoint you, I can’t. Busy with work. Rain check? – T_

A new alert pops up in his inbox.

 _You’re so cruel, treating a lady like this. You could at least offer me a cup of coffee the morning after. – F_

Kotetsu shakes his head slightly. Nathan’s the same as ever.

 _I can do coffee. Around 8 AM sound good? – T_

Right when he hits the send button, the alarm on his wristband flashes.

“Tiger, there’s another fire,” says Agnes’ assistant. The man scratches his thick sideburns and yawns.

“Got it,” Kotetsu says. He pulls open the desk drawer to grab his mask.

“There’s one thing though. This time it’s not covered in any ‘normal’ flames.”

“Eh?” His hand freezes.

“There’s a warehouse on Lincoln burning with blue-green flames. No one’s been able to put them out yet.”

“ _Say what?_ ”

“We don’t know what’s causing it, which is why we want you to try to get inside the building and find out.”

Fingers clench a black domino mask.

That bastard.

“Don’t worry,” he says. He glares at the translucent map presented on his wristband’s screen. “I think I know what’s causing it.”  
~*


	11. Chapter 11

Wheels screech as he brakes hard against the shoulder of the road. With a kick and twist of the handle, the motorbike halts completely, its engine dying with a quiet hiss.

Against the overcast sky, blue-green flames devour the walls of a warehouse. The unnatural brilliance of the fire overwhelms the ashen color of smoke as it liquefies stone and dissolves cement. Bubbles rise and pop from the molten material sliding down a quickly deteriorating frame.

Kotetsu grits his teeth, eyes scanning for any sign of a distant figure in a gray cape.

“Tiger, if you can’t make it inside, then your job is to go and assist the firefighters. They’re on the southern perimeter,” Agnes orders. The intercom buzzes with background conversation. “Blue Rose is on her way, but I-30 is blocked and her van’s being delayed.”

“Is there anyone still inside?” he barks.

She pauses.

“I don’t know,” she says. “The report didn’t mention anything. For now, just get to a decent spot before we have to cut for commercials.”

His hands clench into fists.

He knows how Lunatic operates. Nathan had figured it out months ago, when Lunatic initially made his appearance. If the psychopath is silencing members of the Ouroboros —

A scream wrenches the air.

His monitor tracks the noise, zooming wildly before focusing on the parking lot of the warehouse. He sprints, not caring that Agnes is shouting at him now, because points and cameras be damned, he needs to save lives first.

Mid-step his body accelerates, the lines of his suit bursting with emerald, as he jumps over the barrier of the road and flies down a hill. Within a second, he’s in the parking lot.

The place is barren with the exception of a woman and a car. She continues to shriek as her body contorts, the flames eating away her flesh in steady bites. Her clothes and shoes cook into her quickly blackening skin.

He grabs the woman, ignoring the temperature alerts clouding the bottom of his monitor screen, but just as his hands come in contact the woman’s eyes roll back and her body crumples.

His chest is hollow, his ears ringing, as silence penetrates the surrounding.

He’s too late.

Again.

The flames die down on their own, mockingly, as if to say they’re satisfied now that they’ve finished taking yet another life.

His throat convulses, fury exploding from his lungs.

But he has no time to grieve, because a breeze scatters the incomplete ashes of a dead woman and introduces a spectral-like presence:

“So we meet again, _Wild Tiger_.”

His body reacts before his mind, arms whipping out to strangle the neck belonging to a cold, smug voice.

“What’s wrong? Are you upset yet another criminal has been killed?” Lunatic asks. He chuckles with callous amusement.

“ _YOU PSYCHOTIC BASTARD!_ ”

Kotetsu throws a punch with all his strength, but his fist doesn’t impact because Lunatic thrusts upwards with his flames to dodge it smoothly.

“Hmph. You insist on such a weak, naïve form of justice,” Lunatic says. His gloved fingers touch the lips of his mask. “If only you could open your eyes to see the truth.”

“You’re fucking delusional!”

The roof of the car caves in as Kotetsu jumps off it and hurtles through the air. At mid-flight, his wire darts out and latches onto a wrist, twisting around and around until the length grows taut over bone.

As his wire secures its grip, his body plummets to the ground at the whim of gravity. The wire forces Lunatic down as well, and Kotetsu yanks roughly, dragging the maniac like a rag doll towards his suit as the wire retracts back into his armor.

They collide, sending Kotetsu tumbling, his helmet slamming against the hardness of pavement. Lunatic’s cape catches against the articulation of his left elbow, and his right arm strains from the effort of keeping the bastard close.

“Why are you doing this?” Kotetsu snarls. “Are you the one behind the Ouroboros attacks?”

 _Are you the one who wiped Bunny’s memories?_

The question causes Lunatic to tilt his head with curiosity.

“Ouroboros? Ah, I see. You’re starting to sound very much like your partner,” Lunatic says softly. “How boring.”

“ _Answer the question!_ Before I rip that stupid glove from your face.”

Lunatic re-straightens his head and lifts a finger.

“Answer me this first: do you believe in Sternbild’s form of justice?”

 _Again with this bull crap_ , Kotetsu thinks.

“I believe in my own. And that includes stopping psychos like you from running loose,” he growls.

“Ah, so you’re still interesting after all!” Lunatic crows with delight, sending a sickening chill down Kotetsu’s spine. “I see. We’re similar in that regard.”

“Don’t lump me in with someone as messed up as you.”

Long, skeletal fingers reach out and brush the side of Wild Tiger’s helmet.

“Your code of justice relies too much on the lies of Sternbild,” Lunatic whispers. “If you could see the truth, you’d realize I’m purging this rotten world of its hypocrisy.”

Flames scorch his armor, causing Kotetsu to shout and stumble backwards. Lunatic slices the wire caught on his arm as though it’s butter.

“Ouroboros,” Lunatic says. He wraps the cape around his body, his head jerking with a nod, as though he’s a marionette being manipulated by invisible strings. “The blade that cuts through the wretched soul of the world. Appropriate, isn’t it?”

Kotetsu launches himself at the figure, grabbing onto the slithering form.

Oddly, Lunatic doesn’t fight back.

Instead, he leans closer.

“Let me tell you a secret, Wild Tiger.”

Wide, gaping eyes peer into his visor, swallowing up the screen of the monitor.

“I am not who you are seeking,” Lunatic whispers. “I suggest you look deeper before alleging someone’s alliance.”

He laughs, then in a flash escapes from Kotetsu’s arms and hovers fifty feet above, crossbow drawn.

“But maybe you won’t have the chance.”

The bowstring bends back, flames licking its jagged bolt.

“Those who obstruct justice will be held guilty as accomplices of evil,” Lunatic declares. His fingers relax, releasing the bolt when —

Electricity cracks and jostles the crossbow, throwing it off-center. The bolt whistles past his helmet and pierces the engine of an abandoned car, causing it to erupt in a blaze.

“Stop right there!” Dragon Kid points her staff at Lunatic, glaring as blue shockwaves twitch over her hands.

Kotetsu takes the chance offered by the distraction to shoot with his wire again, but forgets Lunatic has clipped its length almost in half. It springs from his wrist only to hang limply from his arm.

Without mercy, several rounds of bolts perforate the ground, flinging Kotetsu over the hood of the car. Dragon Kid evades nimbly, her staff spinning desperately in an attempt to shield herself from excess damage.

He lifts himself off the car, ready to jump back in to help Dragon Kid when the glow of his suit fades and his energy drains into almost nothing. He curses as his body struggles to even move properly, too weakened from over a week’s worth of sleep deprivation to be in any shape to fight.

“Hiiiya!” Dragon Kid launches electric blasts from her palms powerful enough to cast the parking lot in flashes of blinding light.

Lunatic weaves in the air, calm and unexcited by the fight.

“I’ll take care of you later,” he says. “There’s worse scum needing to be disposed of tonight.”

He vanishes just as electricity crackles at the spot that should’ve been his head.

“Crap,” Dragon Kid mutters. Her staff smacks the ground, her body leaning against it for support while she pants. “I thought I got him too…”

The two of them take a moment to breathe and gather the remainder of their strength, stunned by the frustratingly one-sided battle.

Within minutes, rain begins to rush over their exhausted bodies, streaming down the blistered surface of Kotetsu’s armor, darkening the scarred pavement. A fist crushes the ground, trembling with violence as the polish of his wrist plate cracks sharply.

“Tiger-dono?”

He looks up.

Origami Cyclone is carrying an unconscious businessman over his armored shoulders. Dragon Kid glances at him, eyes widening before looking away.

“Are you all right, Tiger-dono?”

Kotetsu slowly rises from his knees, standing unevenly before his suit corrects his balance.

“The woman didn’t make it,” he says.

Over the scorched parking lot, a prone and crumbling corpse rests beside the still-blazing car.

Origami Cyclone makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, his head bowing respectfully. At a little distance, Dragon Kid stares hard at her feet, green eyes pained.

“Was that NEXT the one who caused the fire?” she asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Kotetsu says. He examines the frazzled ends of his supposedly high-tech and near-unbreakable wire.

“D-does that mean that NEXT is the one behind the other fire attacks?” Origami Cyclone asks with quavering fear.

 _I am not who you are seeking. I suggest you look deeper before alleging someone’s alliance._

“I don’t know,” Kotetsu says honestly. He taps his damaged wrist plate, bringing up a flickering and distorted screen.

Agnes’ voice breaks through the static.

“We captured the footage of you and that NEXT,” she says. “It’s the same one from the church incident, isn’t it?”

Kotetsu nods while Origami Cyclone and Dragon Kid freeze in surprise.

“His name is Lunatic,” says Kotetsu. “He’s too powerful for one Hero to deal with on their own.”

He can almost hear the calculating smirk as she responds.

“That’s better for ratings. I’ll come up with a plan to deal with him.”

“It’s not that easy,” Kotetsu snaps. “He’s a rogue — I don’t think it’s just him behind this.”

Origami Cyclone and Dragon Kid run up to him, eager to learn more.

“What are you saying?” Agnes demands. “If it’s not just ‘Lunatic’, then who else can it be?”

Kotetsu suddenly realizes he’s in a public place, and that his conversation with Agnes is being recorded.

“…I don’t know,” he says weakly.

She scoffs with utter derision.

“Forget it. Just follow my orders next time. Otherwise I’m having a word with Mr. Lloyds,” she says.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The fizzling screen shuts off.

He rubs the length of his wrist plate before gingerly walking south to find the right people to take care of the deceased woman’s body.

“Wait! Tiger!”

Dragon Kid dashes to his side. Origami Cyclone follows, a bit more slowly since he’s carrying a civilian.

“You were going to say something.” She has keen ears for someone so young. It reminds him of Barnaby, who even in his current state could be too perceptive for his own good. “What was it?”

“It’s nothing,” he mutters. “Go help Origami.”

“Tiger-dono, do you know something?”

Great, they’re ganging up on him now.

“No,” he says firmly. It’s the plain truth. “I don’t.”

Dragon Kid doesn’t seem satisfied by his answer, and Origami Cyclone hesitates. They share a look before joining him to walk side-by-side in the torrent of rain.

But neither of them raise the question again much to Kotetsu’s relief.  
~*

 

Barnaby eats lunch under the bored gaze of the day watch guard, a burly man in his forties with a cleft chin and a pockmarked face. The guard barely speaks a word to him, but he doesn’t mind the silence. Today, he feels refreshed and awake, as though a week-long fog has cleared from his vision. Paired with this new alertness is anticipation; he can’t help but count down the time until Kotetsu returns, noting the hours until afternoon strikes. It’s silly to be excited about seeing someone when it’s barely been a day since they’ve last been together, yet he can’t find it in himself to feel remotely embarrassed.

No, he’s simply glad, because Kotetsu can chase away the frightening nightmares and somehow make things seem like they’re going to be all right, even when Barnaby doesn’t know what to do with himself except be a reluctant patient for endless tests and brain exercises. Despite his lack of direction, he does have a hope, sprouting from the knowledge that he has worked before — _with Kotetsu_ — and he toys with the idea of maybe returning to his former job once he’s okay, once he’s not quite so… unstable.

After the incidents with the pills, after his confrontation with Dr. Reynolds, it’s clear that he probably does have some issues. Maybe with paranoia, maybe with anger, like his physician suspects. He doesn’t know what his former self was like, left only with the clues from other people’s remarks and the damning evidence of video footage to piece together an impression. He’s not sure he wants to know the full details, not if the person is the kind to fight and yell at Kotetsu.

Rather than attempt to search more videos involving the two of them, he unfolds the cover of his laptop and spends the rest of his time in the bedroom searching about “Wild Tiger” only. He smiles at the clips he finds of the man in a blue and white costume, his black cape catching against the wind as he jumps after a falling woman. Kotetsu’s mask covers most of his face, but his bright eyes are shining with pride and joy when he catches the civilian in his arms. Barnaby thinks it would amazing to work alongside Kotetsu, to be able to share a little of that thrill that comes from saving lives.

He’s about to watch a third clip when a knock interrupts. Slowly, the door slides open, Dr. Reynolds’ cautious eyes peering out from mousy bangs. She has a messy ponytail and wears her white lab coat, as though to remind Barnaby that she’s not a stranger but his physician, someone with a level of authority. He finds his hands flexing into fists, but just as quickly he forces them to open and stay loose. He gives his physician a weak smile, a small attempt to relieve some of the uneasiness hovering between them.

“Have you taken your pills?” she asks. She steps hesitantly into the room, the white cast on her arm standing in sharp relief against the wooden door before blending in with her coat.

Barnaby is sure Kotetsu has already told Dr. Reynolds about skipping his medication. This is probably a test of his honesty to see whether he can be trusted.

“No, I have not,” he answers, attempting to sound polite. There’s a rigidity to his words that he can’t quite relax, can’t quite soften.

She doesn’t seem surprised.

“May I ask why you refused to take them?” she asks.

“I don’t need them with Mr. Kotetsu here,” he says.

Something flashes across her face, a mixture of frustration and fatigue, before her expression settles into a neutral, professional appearance. Quickly, she scribbles a note down on her digital tablet.

“Mr. Kaburagi suggested we try a week without the sleeping pills to see how you fare. I’ll adjust your treatment plan accordingly, but I expect you and Mr. Kaburagi to report any new symptoms, including the return of your nightmares,” Dr. Reynolds says. She doesn’t seem quite as afraid of Barnaby now, brisk and bossy as the topic finds its way into more familiar territory. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Barnaby says even as he has to fight down the urge to scowl.  
~*

 

Kotetsu changes in the locker room, his head swimming from his encounter with Lunatic. He knows he has to talk to Nathan soon and is glad the man contacted him earlier today to arrange something. If there’s one person who could figure out the connection between Lunatic and the Ouroboros, it’d be him.

His cell phone vibrates inside the locker, rattling against metal.

He picks up it, thinking it’s either Agnes ready to bitch at him again or Mr. Lloyds ready to give him a lecture about ruining Apollon Media’s multi-million dollar suit. Not that Dr. Saito hasn’t already read him the riot act about that in his faint, angry mutterings.

“Hello? This is Kotetsu speaking,” he says tiredly.

“Papa?”

He nearly jumps out of his skin.

“K-Kaede? How are you doing? Is something up, sweetie?” he asks. His hand blindly pats around until he finds a bench to sit on.

“You haven’t called in a month.”

Guilt sears through every inch of his body and he cringes.

“Papa’s very sorry,” he says meekly. “There’s been so much going on at work — ”

“You called every week before that,” she says sharply. She heaves an annoyed sigh. “It’s probably because you forgot, isn’t it?”

“I’m really _really_ sorry, Kaede,” he says. He clutches the phone with both hands. “I promise I’ll call you again at the end of this week!”

“Well, it’s not like I care or anything,” she says. “I just called because Grandma was worried.”

Another round of guilt twists his insides.

“D-did you at least like your graduation present?” he asks.

Her tone brightens, somewhat easing Kotetsu’s anxiety.

“Oh, that new figurine of Barnaby is so amazing, Papa! I can’t believe you managed to buy it — all of my friends said their parents had to wait in line for ages and then it sold out before they could even purchase it. They’re so jealous,” she says.

“Well, Papa tried his hardest,” Kotetsu responds. He rubs the back of his head. “Only the best for his favorite daughter.”

“I’m your only daughter,” Kaede points out with an exasperated huff. “Anyway, I heard they won’t be selling more figurines until Barnaby returns from his vacation. Ahh, I can’t wait to see him again!”

As she squeals, Kotestu ends up frowning, thinking back to his fight with Mr. Lloyds about Barnaby’s forced return to Hero TV. There’s less than a month left before Apollon Media would want his partner back on the job. Maybe if he talks to Dr. Reynolds, she could convince the Board to at least stall some more about Barnaby’s return… there’s no way someone in his condition could deal with the stress of being a Hero, much less with the publicity of making a “celebrity come-back.” He remembers how shy and apprehensive Barnaby seemed when around large crowds during their visits in hospitals and strolls in the park, and can’t imagine the man faring any better with a merciless media and adoring fans.

“Hello? Papa? Are you still there?”

“Hm? Oh! Right, sorry Kaede. Papa’s kind of out of it today,” he says. He tries to chuckle to make it sound like a joke.

“Ehhh? Aren’t you always out of it?” she says. “Whatever. I need to hang up now. Don’t bother promising you’ll call. You always break your promises.”

Kotetsu flinches, his heart squeezing painfully.

“I promise this time,” he says desperately. “Kaede, I won’t forget. I love you very much, you know that, right?”

“Papa, it doesn’t matter how many times you say something,” Kaede replies. She sounds oddly mature and resigned, far older than her actual age. “Because you know what? Actions speak louder than words.”

“Eh w-w-wait Kaede! Let me finish!”

“Grandma says to watch out for your health,” she mutters. “Bye.”

The call ends with an icy click.  
~*

 

Barnaby stares every now and then at the front door before resuming his online browsing. Dr. Reynolds is out of the apartment for the evening and the day guard sits across the living room, preferring to flip through the channels to find something interesting to watch.

When the time on his computer strikes exactly seven o’clock, the door finally opens. He jumps up from his chair, smiling, as Kotetsu enters with his mask and a sports bag.

“Hey, Bunny,” he says. “Mind if I use your washer and dryer? I’m running out of clothes.”

“Of course I don’t mind.” Barnaby walks over and grabs the strap of the bag. “Let me help, Mr. Kotetsu!”

“Nah, you don’t have to go that far,” the man answers.

“It’ll be faster if we work together,” Barnaby says cheerfully.

A frown twitches on Kotetsu’s lips for just a second. He’s careful to note the reaction, puzzled and somewhat concerned.

“If you’re really that bored, sure, why not.” Kotetsu lets Barnaby carry the heavy bag, stifling a yawn.

It takes less than a minute to throw in the clothes. A gurgle comes from the man’s stomach right after the machine door shuts, causing Barnaby to raise his eyebrows.

“You haven’t eaten dinner yet, have you?”

“I can grab something in the morning,” Kotetsu says. He rubs his stomach with an embarrassed smile.

“We have plenty of food,” Barnaby says. “And plus, now we can have dinner together.”

“Hm? Didn’t you eat already?”

He flushes and glances down at his hands.

“I wanted to eat with you,” he says shyly. “There’s some lasagna in the oven.”

Kotetsu blinks before shrugging.

“Sounds delicious. Guess I can’t refuse an offer like that.”

A light, fluffy sensation lifts Barnaby’s steps as they walk into the kitchen. He doesn’t mention the _mitsumame_ dessert chilling in the fridge — a favorite of Kotetsu’s — because he wants it to be a surprise. He also doesn’t plan on mentioning how long it took him to figure out how to make the jelly and black syrup. Dr. Reynolds had baked the lasagna, being a surprisingly decent cook, and despite their mutual distrust, she pulled away from her work long enough to help Barnaby learn how to create the dish with the help of instructions from an internet recipe. She had watched over him carefully as he sliced pieces of fruit and added them slowly into the flower-shaped bowl.

Now that he and Kotetsu are sitting around a table with steaming plates of lasagna, Barnaby has to bite the inside of his bottom lip to prevent himself from grinning suspiciously, not wanting to give away the surprise. He can’t wait to see the delight warm Kotetsu’s sleepy eyes, can’t wait to match the man’s smile with one of his own.  
~*


	12. Chapter 12

His smile falters when Kotetsu doesn’t react to the dessert. The man takes automatic bites, his demeanor strangely distant and reserved. The white-green bracelet on his right wrist hangs loosely, rattling every time the spoon scoops up pieces of fruit and jelly.

Barnaby doesn’t say anything and plays with his own slippery slices of strawberries self-consciously. Is the dessert bad? Did he do something wrong when preparing it? Or is Kotetsu just —

He quickly realizes what’s going on.

Midway through the dessert, Kotetsu stops chewing, his eyelids slowly drooping until they fully close, only to snap open an instant later. Within seconds they slide back down again, this time remaining shut a little longer before blearily blinking awake. The black mask draws attention to his face, emphasizes the fatigue clouding brown eyes, especially since Kotetsu usually takes it off when inside the apartment. Barnaby suspects the man’s forgotten he’s still wearing it, the same way he’s forgotten to take his hat off.

He watches as fingers relax around the handle of a spoon, which tilts until it touches the tablecloth.

“Are you tired?” Barnaby asks quietly.

His voice causes Kotetsu’s head to jerk up, body jolting from its slumped posture.

“Ah, sorry, Bunny,” he says. He rubs the bridge of his nose and exhales softly. “Just need some coffee is all.”

“If you’re that tired, you should sleep instead of drinking coffee.”

A half-wince, half-annoyed frown appears on the man’s face. Something in his chest tightens at the sight, making him wonder if the irritation is directed at him for being so meddlesome.

“I’m supposed to watch over you,” Kotetsu says. “How can I do that if I’m asleep?”

“We can go to bed early,” Barnaby says. “I’m rather tired as well.”

“Eh? Really? Jeez, why didn’t you say something before?”

“I wanted to have dinner first,” Barnaby lies. He places his hand over his mouth and pretends to yawn.

Either his acting skills are convincing, or Kotetsu is willing to play along.

“You can go ahead and get ready for bed then,” he says. His chair slides back as he makes a motion to stand. “I’ll do the dishes.”

Barnaby grabs Kotetsu’s wrist, his fingers pressing against hairline cracks he doesn’t remember existing a night before. The wristband’s surface is rough, jagged, and slightly warped.

“They can wait until morning,” Barnaby says. “I’d like you to sleep next to me again.”

Kotetsu’s gaze drops down to his arm, discomfort and reluctance clearly etched over his face. Barnaby’s confidence stutters, but he’s determined to press forward, if only to trick the man into catching some much needed rest.

“You haven’t taken your meds?” Kotetsu asks. He sounds like he already knows the answer.

“No,” Barnaby says. “I told Dr. Reynolds I don’t need them if you’re here.”

Resigned, Kotetsu pulls away from Barnaby’s grip and nods once.

“Have it your way,” he says wearily.

For some reason, the victory feels hollow. Barnaby hides his frown, pushes down on the disappointment attempting to rise to his throat, and lets his mind assemble the details of Kotetsu’s physical state to see if he can’t figure out a way to ease the exhaustion. The cracked bracelet is new and so are the bruises darkening a row of knuckles. There’s stiffness to Kotetsu’s shoulders and arms as well. And now, a burnt odor accompanies the smoke that clings stubbornly to the man’s clothes. All these things indicate Kotetsu’s had a rough day working as a Hero.

Barnaby thinks back to the noise of a Hero TV announcer hailing Wild Tiger’s efforts to put out a fire, and wonders if he should start keeping up with the show, if only to anticipate Kotetsu’s need for rest.  
~*

 

Nathan sits in Helios Energy’s private café with a steaming cup of tea and a copy of the _Sternbild Times_. A red pen circles an item on the business section before resting gently beside a thick manila folder. As he waits, pink nails tap against fine china impatiently.

He doesn’t need to glance up from his papers to confirm Kotetsu’s arrival. The man dashes through frosted glass doors in a hurry, only to nearly collide into a redheaded waitress and her orders of eggs benedict. After he bows with a sincere and stuttering apology and escapes the glare of an irate woman, he finds Nathan easily enough in their regular meeting spot, the left corner by the windows, and raises his hand in greeting with a chagrined smile.

“Sorry, woke up late,” he says. He slides into the leather booth and immediately pours himself a pot of black coffee. Without bothering to add sugar, he gulps it down, causing Nathan to raise his eyebrows.

“Having trouble getting up in the morning? My, you really are showing your age,” Nathan says. He folds the newspaper into crisp lines and places his elbows on the table, chin resting on his hands. “Or has it been as busy for you as it’s been for the rest of us?”

Kotetsu swallows and stares hard at Nathan. None of his usual idiotic cheer lightens his eyes.

Without bothering to even react to the remark, he dives straight in with a solemn question:

“Hey. Do you remember a NEXT with strange colored flames?”

A sour expression wrinkles the smooth complexion of Nathan’s face.

“Of course,” he says coolly. With his pinky lifted, he uses his thumb and index finger to stir his cup with a silver teaspoon. “How could I forget? Lunatic was his name, was it not?”

“Yeah. Crazy bastard was responsible for yesterday’s fire,” Kotetsu says. He pours another cup of coffee. “He mentioned something weird though… about not assuming his allegiance and stuff.”

The teaspoon pauses around ripples of chamomile.

“He’s not associating himself with the Ouroboros?”

“Tch, he’s nuts, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s just running around causing trouble,” Kotetsu replies. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “But he might be lying. I don’t know.”

Nathan opens the manila folder and spreads out a few of its documents. Attached to each dossier are profile shots of three men in glossy suits.

“Do you know who he attacked?” Nathan asks. “If it was someone important — ”

A fist slams on the counter, rattling their cups and saucers.

“ _All_ lives are important, Fire Emblem,” Kotetsu snaps, his hand squeezing hard enough that the veins on his arm bulge underneath skin. “Don’t you freaking _dare_ talk like they aren’t.”

Before Kotetsu can say more, the tip of a sharp fingernail grazes the underside of his chin, elegant yet blade-like in warning.

“Please don’t act like a fool, dear,” Nathan says coldly. He has no time to deal with Kotetsu’s temper tantrums. “You know what I meant.”

The fingernail slowly pulls away. Kotetsu blinks rapidly before shaking his head, which seems to help bring him back to what little sense he still manages to retain.

“Sorry,” he says, subdued. He dabs some napkins on the table to soak up the spilled coffee as Nathan continues.

“This Lunatic character has shown up a few times before you returned to work,” he says. “He’s flashy, but so far he’s only singled out murderers. Ouroboros has its sights higher than that.”

He picks up one of the profile pictures and waves it over Kotetsu’s face.

“This, darling, is the executive director of Athena Corporation.” The photo reveals a white man, aged around mid-fifties, gray tufts of hair sprouting on the sides of a round head with a small, squat nose to accompany deep-set eyes. “Stephan McCormack. Had been involved in a national drug cartel, most likely in exchange for political favors. Found dead on the top floor of Athena Tower with the mark of the Ouroboros scarred on his chest. No other signs of mutilation.”

A second photo rises in the air. The photo contains a younger man, in his forties, with a square jawline and a thick, wiry beard attached to a dark, unsmiling face.

“Saboor Ul-Bashar. Vice president of ARES nanotechnology with connections in human trafficking. Found dead in Red Garden Motel on August 8th after firefighters discovered a body stuffed inside a mattress. The only thing recognizable was the Ouroboros mark stitched onto the sole of his foot.”

“…is that the motel you sent me a picture of? The one on Roosevelt?” Kotetsu asks, his voice tight but calm.

“Of course,” Nathan answers. He picks up the final photograph, nails tapping underneath the name _Ling Wu_. “I assume you recognize this one?”

Kotetsu nods before lowering his head. His hat obscures part of his expression, but there’s no need for Nathan to rely on the man’s face to understand what he’s feeling. The burden weighs heavy on Kotetsu’s shoulders, causing them to slump, and the rest of the man seems to bend with them. Nathan wants to sigh, wants to tilt Kotetsu’s chin up and tell him he needs to unwind before he snaps in half like an overstretched rubber band. He isn’t the only one worried — Antonio voiced his concern a week before when Kotetsu withdrew into himself, and just last evening he caught Pao Lin and Ivan whispering to each other in the hallway about Wild Tiger’s strange behavior. It isn’t hard to detect when a Hero is becoming steadily stressed, although Nathan’s womanly intuition suspects Kotetsu’s hidden it for longer than they’ve noticed it.

He can’t play therapist though, not when certain issues dominate his priorities. He also doubts Kotetsu would be willing to open up to such help, and can only hope the man will be able to pull himself together soon.

“He had an Ouroboros mark on his right hand,” Kotetsu says suddenly. “He was a NEXT too. Used his powers to…”

Nathan’s eyes narrow.

“Commit suicide,” Nathan finishes. He plays with the feathery pieces of his coat in contemplation. “It’s interesting, isn’t it? Ouroboros is keen on silencing anyone who knows about their existence, or silencing their own to prevent possible leaks, yet they’ve been leaving corpses all over Sternbild. Why is that?”

Kotetsu scowls.

“How am I supposed to know how their minds work?” he mutters.

“Oh, but I _do_ wonder who they’re trying to send a message to,” Nathan sighs. “It’s definitely not the public.”

Kotetsu grunts in confusion.

“You know most people haven’t even heard of an Ouroboros, much less a mark of this design?” Nathan explains. “If you’ve paid any attention to the news at all, you’d realize that they’re publicizing the chaos as a cluster of terrorist attacks on Sternbild. The media is blaming everything on third world extremist groups with nothing to lose. But none of the groups they mention contain any association with the marks that appeared on McCormack, Ul-Bashar, or Wu.”

“What are you saying? The media is too dumb to figure out anything about the Ouroboros?”

“Well, neither of us would have known about its existence either, had Handsome not brought it to our attention. It was only after months of careful digging that I started to even find clues that it was a real organization.”

The mere mention of Kotetsu’s partner generates panic and fear.

“If you’re right, Fire Emblem, and they’re targeting anyone who has a past with the Ouroboros, doesn’t that mean Bunny’s still in danger?” he asks anxiously.

“It’s definitely not a coincidence that he was attacked around the same time they silenced other people who had any knowledge of the Ouroboros,” Nathan says. “But you shouldn’t be only worrying about Handsome. We all need to be careful.”

The redheaded waitress appears abruptly from the booth behind them, startling Kotetsu, who drops the rather sensitive documents he’s holding all over the floor. She kneels to pick them up the same time Kotetsu jumps out of his seat to gather them in a frenzy, arms flailing over the papers in a pathetic attempt to shield them from the waitress’ stare. Nathan giggles with amusement.

“Oh honey, calm down,” he says, waving daintily with his fingers. “She’s one of my trusted girls.”

“U-uh… oh! I-I mean…” Kotetsu fumbles with the papers some more before muttering an awkward greeting to the waitress, who merely glowers back. Her face is painted with the kind of vogue style reminiscent of Agnes Joubert, her red curls framing an ebony complexion with feminine sharpness. One of Nathan’s favorite girls, since she’s one of the few who has enough attitude to shake up even the toughest men.

“Your check, sir,” she says flatly. She places the bill on the table and struts away, her white apron flowing with the sway of hips.

“You should get going,” Nathan says. “Don’t want to be late for work, do you?”

Kotetsu glances at his watch, curses loudly, then smacks some wrinkled bills on the table before offering a quick farewell.

“Let’s meet up next week, darling. Same time and place!” Nathan calls out.

“Sure!” Kotetsu shouts back before flying out the doors. Nathan is surprised Kotetsu doesn’t simply run _through_ them considering the man has no respect for property when in a hurry, but is thankful that isn’t the case today.

The waitress returns after the doors finish slamming back into place.

“Is that man worth trusting?” she asks, her throaty voice blunt and iced with disdainful doubt. “He appears far too careless.”

Nathan shuffles the papers back into a manila folder and bats his full eyelashes.

“Mmm, sometimes you need someone who can make honest mistakes,” he purrs. “Careful people don’t stumble onto interesting things the same way Tiger does.”

“There’s making mistakes and there’s being reckless,” she states. “For instance, Mr. Tiger has already lost a flash drive containing confidential information, which in the wrong hands could blow your entire plans apart.”

Nathan raises the stuffed folder up with a calculating smile.

“Have faith in me, Alicia,” Nathan says. “Everything I’ve told Tiger up to this point is all he needs. And be assured, dear, that the flash drive didn’t contain anything more than some cute vacation photos and a reference that only he and I would understand. The point was to merely remind Tiger to keep in touch.”

His fingers snap and the folder bursts into flames. Ash crumbles onto the cherry wood polish.

“If you say so,” Alicia mutters. The ashes vanish from the countertop, her eyes flashing blue as they vacuum into her palms.  
~*

 

Barnaby watches the newest episode of Hero TV in the comfort of his bedroom, his laptop thrumming with the vibrations of a fan while the video stream buffers. He wears his glasses, wanting to make sure he’s able to catch any details necessary to piece together Kotetsu’s day to day life as a Hero.

Cheerful fanfare erupts from his tinny speakers and a bright yellow logo races onto the screen. It takes ten minutes before the cameras switch to any live material.

 _“Today we have Sky High, Wild Tiger, and Blue Rose on the scene! It appears yet another fire’s started, this time in the casino Lucky Lady! Can they manage to stop the fire before it’s too late?”_

Pain crackles in the back of Barnaby’s head at the sight of flames snaking up the windows and walls of a ten-story building. He ignores it and continues watching.

 _“Blue Rose is doing her best to put out the fire with her ice beams! And there’s Sky High, directing water from the casino’s famous Five Fountains with his wind wizardry! Oh, and what’s Wild Tiger up to? Ah, he’s running straight into the burning building! Remember folks, he’s only one of two Heroes with a suit capable of dealing with temperatures as hot as 2,000 Celsius! Amazing, isn’t it?”_

The screen splits into three sections, but Wild Tiger’s corner contains mostly smoke and blazes of white-orange.

Pain continues to invade the inside Barnaby’s head, sharpening with every passing second, clawing its way through until he could feel it scraping the backs of his eyes. He bites down hard on his tongue to regain focus, ears straining to hear the words:

 _“Remember, folks, Wild Tiger has to destroy the machine to stop the fire! Those terrorists sure are clever, aren’t they? Well, not clever enough to be able to withstand Hundred Power!”_

A roar of flames overwhelms the cameras and hungrily devours Wild Tiger’s suit. He disappears into the billowing smoke and doesn’t return, just like —

Barnaby clutches his head and hisses, struggling against the images threatening to surface and consume his senses. Hazy flashes of a Christmas tree, prone bodies, and a looming figure cloaked in shadow replace the computer screen, until all that’s left are macabre visions, leaving him crippled and gasping and trembling.

The figure turns in his direction, an arm outstretched, wielding a dark weapon. It rises, slowly, and he wants to scream, wants to slam shut the door burning off the skin of his palms, but he’s trapped, legs paralyzed with fear, and he can hear the low laugh, the grin of death as the pistol aims at him and a finger twitches on the trigger.

A thunderous smash of metal interrupts the seething agony, saves him from a bullet to his heart, and it’s enough for Barnaby to return to the safety of reality and regain some control. Between panting breaths, he sees the dark silhouette of a tall, muscular suit with the glow of green shining against smoke. He rattles out a relieved gasp and clings to the image of Wild Tiger that solidifies onto the screen.

 _“And he’s done it again! Wild Tiger and Blue Rose are racking up points thanks to all these fires! Oh, folks, there he goes, leaping out of the building with the machine!”_

A streak of green and white passes through the air before the camera shifts angles and catches up with Wild Tiger’s frame on ground level. The Hero holds the machine in his gloved hands, simply staring at its shattered contents. His armor appears slightly singed, especially around dark gloves and the translucent material of thick gauntlets.

Behind Wild Tiger, the other Heroes scramble to douse the building in ice and water. Barnaby’s headache fades in tandem with the dying fire.

It’s fortunate that the pain subsides, otherwise he might’ve missed the way Wild Tiger’s body sways and his knees buckle when the glow of his armor vanishes. He walks in heavy, sluggish strides seconds before Hero TV cuts away and spends the rest of its time focusing on fan favorites such as Sky High and Blue Rose.

Barnaby takes a deep breath and pulls off his glasses. This isn’t the first time he’s reacted badly to fire, and it’s problematic, especially if he wants to work with Kotetsu. Wild Tiger is running ragged from all of the fire incidents and it’s clear he needs someone to assist, to alleviate the burden of handling those strange machines. It seems unfair that they demand so much from Kotetsu at work, but the man never seems to complain. Barnaby thinks it’s a dangerous way to live and worries something will happen, that Kotetsu may get injured or sick from overworking.

He doesn’t know what to do though. He’d be useless as a partner in his current state, more likely than not an extra liability for Kotetsu to fret over. Maybe he should pretend to sleep in early again to allow Kotetsu to rest. He can at least offer that small gesture, even if it’s pathetically insufficient compared to what Kotetsu’s given him in return.  
~*

 

Kotetsu spends the majority of the press conference distracted, has to deal with Blue Rose glowering at his clumsy and vague non-answers, while Sky High cheers up the audience with his confident and optimistic pep talks. He doesn’t get why Blue Rose is upset, considering the news media seem less interested in his role as a machine-breaker and more curious about how their idol is faring with her intense work schedule. She can only glare at him for so long before she has to face the crowd to provide a scripted comment about her temporary hiatus as a singer. She stiltedly refers to priorities, mentioning how much more important it is to assure the safety of Sternbild than spend her time singing.

He quickly tunes out the rest of her speech and frowns, thinking back to Nathan’s latest speculations, and can’t stop himself from imagining Barnaby, ignorant to his danger, stepping right into another Ouroboros attack. His stomach lurches at the thought of returning to the apartment to find only dead bodies and the blood of the Ouroboros emblazoned on the walls. He’s seen glimpses of the cadaver photos tucked in Nathan’s dossiers, the scars and burns and gaping wounds mutilating once alive individuals. It makes him sick to think even those people, the ones aligned with the Ouroboros in some way, would lose their lives so easily and violently.

But maybe he’s overreacting. After all, if Nathan thinks it’s sufficient for him to watch over Barnaby during the night, then maybe Kotetsu should trust him. Barnaby hasn’t gone out in a few days, according to Dr. Reynolds, preferring to stay inside his room to play with his computer. But it doesn’t mean Barnaby will stay boxed inside his apartment for long. After all, the sprain on his partner’s non-dominant arm is healing quickly, maybe _too_ quickly thanks to the activation of his Hundred Power that night he attacked Dr. Reynolds, and that means it’s likely Apollon Media will try to get Barnaby back in the spotlight as soon as possible.

He makes an annoyed sound as he realizes he should have brought up this issue with Nathan, or maybe even Agnes, because they’d know how to handle Barnaby’s situation with the delicacy it requires. The best he can do is bow and suck up to Mr. Lloyds, who’s never been fond of him anyway and is unlikely to give away any favors.

But it’d be hard to ask anything more out of Nathan and Agnes now when they’re preoccupied with their own investigations and businesses. The rumors about Agnes’ dedication to Hero TV circulate frequently, are wide-spread enough that Kotetsu’s even caught onto them. He knows that Agnes is working overtime to deal with the fires, not even bothering to clock out for days while she deftly handles PR disasters and the chaotic schedule of filming, editing, and airing material. Nathan is similarly busy, working full-time as a Hero while conducting his research on the Ouroboros with expert diligence. Kotetsu thinks they’re probably as exhausted as he is and doesn’t want to add any further stress by speculating the vulnerability of Barnaby’s position.

He could take care of it. _Should_ take care of it, because it’s his partner.

Maybe he could teach Barnaby how to reach him in case there’s any trouble, because it’s been a while since Barnaby’s used his wristband, not since the attack in fact. He could also hope that his partner’s instincts will kick in when they’re needed and initiate Hundred Power if he’s not around to deal with the Ouroboros.

“Excuse me, Wild Tiger?”

He snaps out of his thoughts and gazes up to find a bespectacled woman staring at him oddly. She wears a bright yellow jacket, a headset, and a badge indicating she’s one of Agnes’ prized assistants.

“The conference is over, Tiger. Everyone’s left,” she says.

“Eh? ...oh! Look at that,” he says, laughing nervously. “Guess I should get going too then, ahahaha. Erm. Well. Thanks, Miss!”

He dashes out with crab-like speed, leaving the woman shaking her head in bemusement.  
~*

 

Barnaby holds a pair of white-blue pills in his hand with a tense smile.

“You had another episode,” Dr. Reynolds states. “Thank you for being upfront about it.”

Behind her words implies the notion that Barnaby hasn’t been upfront until now, an accusation that makes him all the more on edge with the physician. He continues to maintain the rigid but polite smile.

“These won’t make me forget or lose track of time?” Barnaby asks sharply.

“They shouldn’t,” Dr. Reynolds answers.

It doesn’t mean they can’t, Barnaby notes. He represses a frustrated sigh.

He isn’t the only one to pick up the second layer of meaning behind their words, because Dr. Reynolds tucks a strand of mousey hair and narrows her eyes, analyzing.

“I’m surprised you are willing to try out a different medication,” Dr. Reynolds says. “Is there anything else I should know about your most recent episode? Did the duration or severity change? Or are you simply honoring our agreement?”

Barnaby’s smile widens slightly, but his eyes are frigid.

“Having thought over some things, I’ve decided to focus on reducing the number of episodes I experience,” Barnaby says. “Of course, I am also honoring our agreement.”

If these pills can prevent him from becoming a mess when encountering anything fire-related, he might still have a chance to work with Kotetsu someday.

If they don’t work, he can always toss them out and figure out something else.

Dr. Reynolds suspects as much, because she says, “Barnaby, I am glad you’ve reconsidered this option. But please try out this medication for at least four weeks before deciding anything. Drugs do not work instantly, so do not expect immediate results.”

Barnaby nods.

“Mr. Kaburagi will be informed of the change and instructed to make sure you are following directions. These pills must be taken twice a day. Once in the morning and once in the evening.”

She writes down a note and hands it to Barnaby. He surveys the signature underneath a printed form with detailed information regarding the new drug.

He fights the urge to crumple up the paper and take the pills whenever, to experiment its efficacy by turning on the news to watch the raging fires ignite each level of the city.

But he'll do this properly, because there stands a hope that this will be a viable solution.

 _This is for Mr. Kotetsu_ , he tells himself, before placing the tiny capsules into his mouth.  
~*


	13. Chapter 13

Wild Tiger is on the fourteenth floor of a building when it collapses underneath his feet. His legs scramble for purchase while his grappling wire hisses from his wrist plate and winds itself around a beam. He hangs for a few relieved seconds, before the beam shatters with the loss of foundation, sending him reeling backwards, downwards, plummeting toward the gaping jaws of inferno.

He shouts, his heart pounding, his body lurching against the force of gravity, a helpless hand outstretched.

A blast of lightning rockets over him, disintegrating the beam before it can fall and join the searing pile of rubble below.

At the same moment, ice crystalizes the burning ceiling and stabilizes the walls.

He lands on a pillow of wind, strong yet soft, just before his back can impact against the teeth of jagged metal.

“Tiger-dono!”

Origami Cyclone appears out of nowhere, stabbing the blade of his katana into the ice to secure his hold. The other hand waves out the open window, signaling.

Rock Bison crashes through the wall, shattering ice and debris with magnificent strength, the spikes of his armor gleaming.

“ _Kotetsu_ ,” he murmurs, so quietly that only the Heroes can hear.

Wind gently places Wild Tiger back onto his feet. The soles of his boots squeak against ice, slipping before they gain a fragile balance.

“Did you find the machine?” Sky High asks anxiously. His jetpack causes steam to rise from his back and soak into his tunic.

“Honestly, you just had to get yourself in trouble,” Blue Rose complains. She leaps from the ruins of the fifteenth floor with exaggerated grace, her hands on her hips.

Everyone gathers around a stunned Kotetsu, who takes too long to answer Sky High’s question.

“Are you okay?” Dragon Kid asks. She cautiously leans against one of the frozen walls, her staff angled to keep herself steady.

Kotetsu opens his mouth and croaks,

“Why… why are you guys here?”

In the past few weeks, it was rare to have an isolated incident on any given day. Surely they ought to be on all of the city’s levels defending the people from another relentless round of attacks?

“We were all called to this location,” Rock Bison answers. He places a hand on Wild Tiger’s shoulder. “Did you destroy it?”

Destroy…

Kotetsu swallows.

“I haven’t — ”

Jets of fire erupt from the center of the floor, melting ice and metal, perforating the ceiling above. Burning liquid, thick and white-gold, sprays everywhere, eating away armor and scorching unguarded flesh. Rock Bison jumps and shields Blue Rose, who shrieks in pain as she clutches her shoulder. Sky High picks up Origami Cyclone and Dragon Kid with his arms, and they both cry out as a katana and a tawny staff soften in the flames before disappearing completely.

The alarms in Wild Tiger’s suit screech and screech, warning him that he’s steadily approaching the limits of its protection. Ice showers around him in an effort to keep things cool but the temperature doesn’t drop, sweltering so badly that the waves of heat distort his vision.

“Tiger-dono!”

His body goes rigid and he regains his concentration, his mind lucid and clear as the crystals shooting from injured hands.

“Mr. Wild!”

He walks straight into the flames, letting them cook his suit.

“Tiger, it’s too late! Come with us!” Blue Rose screams. Her face is smudged with ash, her eyes wide and tearful. Before the ice can escape past Rock Bison’s armor, it evaporates ineffectively.

He ignores her and dives, brilliant stripes of green lost within surges of blinding white.

Instantly, the monitors in his suit turn scarlet, flashing desperately.

His Hundred Power flares, adapting his body for the peaks of temperature, and he rushes headfirst toward the source of destruction, his fist prepared to crush the machine into fine dust. He roars, even as parts of his monitor fizzle and darken, even as his Hundred Power has to switch from heat acclimation to pure brute strength, even as he feels like he’s being devoured alive, welded into a coffin of a suit, but he’s nearly there, _almost_ , just —

Just out of reach.

 **Initiating GOOD LUCK MODE.**

He lands on the machine, which explodes against his right hand and throws him across the remains of a hallway, shoving him against the snarls of burning electric wires. Sparks spit and crackle before another explosion rocks the building and propels him sideways. Out of instinct, his Hundred Power transforms to protect his bones and muscles as he accelerates through the density of several layers of walls, letting his already battered suit absorb each new swell of shock until he reaches the open air, which wheezes with smoke and ash.

His wrist plate cracks loudly and the rest of the armor on his right side begins to splinter, fissures deep and shallow alike scarring the singed and sticky black material.

The monitors shut off completely at the same time his power runs dry, leaving him in darkness, his life support gone, the oxygen filters corroded, his suit nothing more than a heavy burden.

He’s falling again, but he doesn’t care anymore.

His job is done now.

He closes his eyes and passes out in blissful unconsciousness.  
~*

 

The pills are working, because Barnaby isn’t distracted anymore by terrifying images and agonizing pain.

But he’s not happy.

The laptop rests on his bed, displaying a frantic scene involving Wild Tiger plummeting from a building. Sky High rescues the Hero by catching Tiger in mid-air, but when the cameras zoom up close to both of them, it’s clear that Kotetsu is frighteningly unresponsive. The extent of the damage to Wild Tiger’s suit causes even the announcer to go silent. Within seconds, the footage cuts off, focusing on the less traumatic visual of firefighters putting out the last of the flames.

Barnaby stands, his legs weak and his breath hitched.

No.

No no no.

He has to be safe.

He _promised_ he wouldn’t leave again.

Barnaby’s knees hit the floor, his hands pressing against the roughness of carpet.

“I have to do something,” he whispers.

The pills aren’t enough.

Kotetsu needs someone, _needs his partner_ , now before it’s too late.

He can’t just sit here and watch the only person who gives a damn about him perish underneath those accursed flames, not when there’s proof Barnaby can fight, can use his own powers like Wild Tiger to save lives.

He thinks back to the smell of smoke, how it began to mix almost permanently with Kotetsu’s scent around the same time Kotetsu’s smiles became strained, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

All he wants is for Kotetsu’s smile to return to its happy, genuine form, bright and infectious, teasing and fond. All he wants is to chase away the hurt and stress wearing the man down, because someone as kind as Kotetsu shouldn’t have to suffer for other people’s sake.

His fingers dig into the carpet. He ignores the slight ache in his still healing arm, his mind thinking fast to come up with a plan.

It takes only ten minutes before he sits up, a grim and determined frown replacing pallid fear.  
~*

 

Kotetsu wakes up during the ambulance ride and does something that terrifies the medics and alarms Antonio.

When the blue light dies down, the skin of his body smooth and unscarred, the people around him stare in amazement, Antonio in both relief and anger.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demands.

Kotetsu tries to chuckle, but the oxygen mask is in the way. His right hand, sore despite the healing effects of his powers, manages to rip it off his face.

“It’s not as bad as it looked before,” Kotetsu answers with a rasp. He coughs to clear his throat. “My suit’s probably trashed though. Damn, Lloyds is going to _kill_ me…”

Antonio clenches his teeth, a sign that Kotetsu’s pissed him off but not enough to get him to yell in front of strangers.

“You need to rest,” he says calmly. “I don’t care if you think you’re fine.”

Kotetsu gets up from the cot, the movement causing his IV to tug and fall out of his arm. The van halts in traffic, its engine rumbling impatiently. He raises his voice just over the muffled blare of sirens.

“I can’t,” he says. “They need me.”

He grins crookedly and flexes his body, twisting his torso left and right to show that he really is fine. The medics speak with one another in hushed tones about what they should do while he stretches. He catches their attention by pointing a finger at them.

“Oi, tell the driver to change courses,” Kotetsu says. “I need to talk to Dr. Saito.”

Antonio’s about to protest, but the medics busy themselves by rechecking Kotetsu’s vital stats before declaring that he is, in fact, in decent health, good enough not to warrant an emergency visit. Their judgment call is influenced by the assumption that as a NEXT Kotetsu is likely more durable than any regular human afflicted with similar injuries.

Antonio knows better, isn’t buying the macho act, and clearly expresses his displeasure with his friend.

Kotetsu manages to keep grinning until the ambulance stops in front of Apollon Media, ignores Antonio’s concern, and hops out of the back of the vehicle as though he’s just gone on a cruise in a luxury car. He dusts off the black skin of his second armor, waves good-bye, and makes it all the way into the building before he has to pant and catch his breath.

His right hand is stiff and tender, but nothing he can’t deal with.

He enters the elevator alone to head off to Dr. Saito’s lab when his wristband — the third replacement this month — flashes urgently. He presses the button to allow a video call and lets the elevator stall on the first floor.

“Hello?” he says. He steels himself for another one of Mr. Lloyds’ furious rants.

But instead of his boss, a different face emerges, one that makes Kotetsu stand up straight.

“Good afternoon, Kotetsu,” Mr. Maverick says. He stares directly at the screen, somber and grandfatherly. “If you could spare a moment, I have a small request for you.”  
~*

 

Agnes throws her headset on the floor in frustration.

“At this rate we’ll just lose viewers!” she shouts. “Next time don’t you dare try airing something like this!”

She refers to the clip of Wild Tiger, suit in shambles, hanging from Sky High’s arms limp as a ragdoll. The pieces of his armor flake and drag with the wind, revealing the vulnerable thinness of a human body. A helmet, chipped at the jawline and the ears, is striking in its symbolic defeat. On the right side, television monitors display the news as journalists report the public panic generated by the alleged loss of one of Sternbild’s Heroes and the increasing severity of the fires.

“We thought he made it out fine when the cameras were poised,” Cain replies defensively. He scratches his bushy beard and cringes when Agnes glares daggers at him. “At least they didn’t focus on him for long, right?”

“I don’t think it can be helped,” Mary says. Her face is flushed due to her role as the switcher between cameras. “The fires are getting more and more out of control. It’s not enough to have only one Hero handling those machines.”

“Besides we have a total of seven Heroes on duty,” Cain says. “Even if Barnaby returned from his vacation, it wouldn’t be enough to protect the city.”

Agnes pinches the bridge of her nose.

“You don’t think I know that?” she snaps. “That’s exactly why we can’t show the Heroes getting injured! It’s even more demoralizing in our current situation.”

“Pardon the intrusion, but if I may interrupt.”

The three of them glance up as Mr. Maverick walks into the studio.

“After some talks with my company, I think I can offer you a plan,” he says, smiling with a peculiarly relaxed, almost serene expression. “It may put a stop to these fires once and for all.”  
~*

 

“Eh?! You want me to bring the machines back to Apollon Media?” Kotetsu’s eyes are wide. He forgets all about leaving the elevator while Mr. Maverick continues with his explanation.

“If we can unlock the mechanism behind the machines, we’ll be better prepared to deal with them,” Mr. Maverick says. “If you can, I want you to collect one as soon as possible and bring it to the labs.”

Kotetsu scratches his cheek with embarrassment.

“Ah, well… you see, sir, I don’t think I’d be able to bring a machine back in one piece,” he confesses.

Mr. Maverick doesn’t appear fazed by the news.

“That’s fine,” he answers. “Our scientists will do what they can with what you bring.”

“Uh… if you say so, sir.”

“Thank you, Kotetsu. This is very helpful,” Mr. Maverick says. He heaves a sigh, sitting back in his leather chair with his hands folded. “I assure you that I thoroughly appreciate the hard work you’ve done. I’ve spoken with Mr. Lloyds so that he understands your situation a bit better. Sometimes, we businessmen forget what it’s like to be the ones fighting.”

At least Kotetsu’s livelihood isn’t being threatened, a fact that would make the rest of his day a little easier.

“By the way,” Mr. Maverick says. “Dr. Saito already has a new prototype of your suit prepared. He wants to test it immediately.”

Kotetsu bows and says solemnly into his communicator, “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused, sir.”

The suit cost millions of Stern dollars, something Kotetsu wouldn’t particularly care about in any other circumstance but now, when his superior is defending and supporting his ability to be a Hero. Even he has to acknowledge the benevolence behind such an act.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about,” Mr. Maverick says kindly. “You’re only doing your job as a Hero after all. Ah, and before I forget, I have a question to ask.”

His superior’s expression is grave.

“Was there anyone besides yourself who saw something unusual? A strange mark, perhaps?”

Unusual… Kotetsu recalls the sign of the Ouroboros singed across multiple bodies on the fourteenth floor, one of them a child around Kaede’s age. It was the reason he had been distracted earlier during the actual fire, when he should have been tracking down the machine instead.

“No, sir,” he answers honestly. The other Heroes showed up after the fourteenth floor crumbled away, the imprinted bodies irretrievable under the immense load of rubble. He narrowly avoided sharing their fate thanks to luck and the good timing of everyone’s arrival.

Although the question is unexpected, he figures reasonably that Mr. Maverick has seen the Ouroboros mark a number of times from the feed of the cameras in his former suit, and is just as curious about the pattern as he and Nathan are.

“I see,” Mr. Maverick says. His thumbs press together. “Once again, thank you, Kotetsu. I hope you can catch up on some rest after your performance test with Dr. Saito.”

The screen vanishes. Kotetsu adjusts his wristband and prepares himself for a few hours of dealing with Dr. Saito’s insanely meticulous testing procedures.

On the bright side, at least he still has a suit.  
~*

 

Barnaby sits with Dr. Reynolds at the kitchen table quietly shuffling through medical documents. A small orange bottle of prescription pills rests beside a chart and a plate of uneaten pasta. The brush of a sliding door sends a jolt of hope through his fingers, which dissipates quickly when he remembers the sight of Wild Tiger on a stretcher, body disappearing inside an ambulance.

He expects the night guard to be a burly, grumpy sort of man, the kind who would watch Barnaby with either keenness or boredom. Not wanting to face the disappointment, he focuses on reading the letter sent to Dr. Reynolds by Apollon Media, the company in charge of Barnaby’s work contract. They’ve scheduled him to return to duty on the first of November, which is less than a month away.

But even that’s too long for Barnaby to wait.

“It’s time,” Dr. Reynolds murmurs. She has a pen tucked behind her ear, her hands busy typing out a status report to send to the company.

Barnaby takes two white-blue pills and swallows them easily. When he finishes a glass of water, Dr. Reynolds glances at him.

“I’d like to conduct a little experiment,” she says. The typing pauses. “If you don’t mind sparing some brandy, of course.”

He’s puzzled, but at this point is willing to put up with Dr. Reynolds’ odd request.

She leaves the table and finds an amber-colored bottle. He watches as she heats up a frying pan, adding in some leftover vegetables.

The liquid pours over the food, causing the entire pan to break out into flames, which reach high into the air, flickering wildly.

“All right? No headaches or strange visual hallucinations?” she asks. She pours more brandy to feed the fire.

Barnaby stares at the flames, but his mind is blank, composed, and undisturbed.

Dr. Reynolds allows the vegetables to burn and give off smoke. The temporary night guard, a young muscled man in a blue police uniform, steps inside when the smoke detectors shrill in warning.

“No feelings of anxiety or fearfulness?”

The smoke only triggers the most recent memories of Kotetsu, whose clothes had reeked of the ashy odor.

“I feel fine,” Barnaby answers.

For the first time since they’ve known each other, Dr. Reynolds smiles at him, satisfied and relieved.

“If you feel another episode is about to occur,” she says. “I’m giving you the freedom to take an extra dose. But please keep track of how many you take, as the maximum allowable amount is about ten pills a day.”

“Thank you,” he says.

Barnaby doesn’t like having to rely on the medication as a crutch, but it’s the best he can do at the moment. At least there aren't any deleterious side effects. The most he’s experienced is a dry mouth and the vague, prickly sensation of familiarity, kind of like déjà vu. He’s a little forgetful, occasionally losing track of the lines he’s reading on the page or not remembering where he’s set his glasses, but those are all benign things, and can be attributed to the distracted state that emerges whenever he starts worrying about Kotetsu’s health.

He spends another hour writing up a special letter, which Dr. Reynolds promises to attach to her status report, in order to convince Apollon Media to take him back earlier than scheduled.  
~*

 

The tests finish a few hours before midnight. Mechanical arms rip off the suit from Kotetsu’s body, making him wince, but once he’s out of the new model, the freedom of being able to nap is enough to put him out of a bad mood. He walks, ignoring the soreness gathering in every part of his body including his head, and tries to stretch his right hand to ensure it doesn't stiffen up too much.

Dr. Saito meets him outside of the laboratory's front doors and mutters excitedly. Out of habit Kotetsu leans in, ear pressed close to the scientist to hear the verdict of the prototype's performance.

“Your new suit is much cooler now, isn’t it?” 

“Eh, guess so,” he answers. The suit looks identical to his old one except shinier and lighter to move around in.

“I have something else I want to show you as well,” Dr. Saito whispers.

Kotetsu frowns, too tired to deal with another twenty minutes of listening to technobabble.

“I really should be heading home,” he says. A phone call earlier excused him from guard duty, which meant he could relax in his own bed and drink copious amounts of beer. Despite the guilt of not being with Barnaby, a secret part of him savors some alone time to recharge.

Dr. Saito seems to have other plans, because he motions for Kotetsu to follow him into the office.

The door opens to reveal boxes of Chinese take-out and icy cans of beer.

“Both of us skipped dinner,” Dr. Saito explains. He shuts the door, leaving no opportunity for Kotetsu to gracefully decline. “It’s important to have nourishment for the brain and body.”

Kotetsu is surprised and a little touched at the gesture.

Besides, he isn’t one to turn down free beer.

“Thanks, doc,” he says. They pull up chairs and begin snapping apart wooden chopsticks. The two of them eat quickly, digging into still warm chow mein and greasy vegetables. A few minutes pass in silence before the engineer makes an odd, high-pitched squeak. Kotetsu looks up in the middle of slurping wet noodles.

“If you break your new suit,” Dr. Saito murmurs, “I’ll poison your coffee.”

He nearly chokes on his food. Dr. Saito grins as though he’s just said an incredibly funny joke.

“Uh… I’ll promise to be careful,” Kotetsu says nervously. He eyes the carton of Mongolian beef with caution.

“That one’s not bad.” Chopsticks reach out to scoop some beef slices onto a pail of white rice.

Hunger overrides the wariness and he resumes eating with the crazy engineer. Beside them, the glow of computer monitors illuminates the otherwise dark office. The food, a pair of thin spectacles, and a wristband glisten in the artificial light.

“Your communicator looks good.”

Rice sticks to the corners of Kotetsu’s lips as he chews. He blinks before glancing down at the white and green wristband. It’s true that out of everything else, it suffered the least amount of damage during the disastrous mission to put out the fire in Hestia Hotels.

“Let me guess, you designed it?” Kotetsu says. He figures Dr. Saito wants to brag, and snorts when the scientist clicks his chopsticks proudly.

“The older versions of the communicators were created here at Apollon Media too,” the engineer says.

“Mmm, that’s nice,” Kotetsu replies, too busy devouring shrimp and broccoli to care much.

“I also added a special feature.”

Without warning, Dr. Saito reaches out and taps the underside of the bracelet.

The cheerful tune of Blue Rose’s “GO NEXT!” single plays while green and pink lights dance across the surface.

“A customizable ringtone.” 

“I can see that,” Kotetsu says. “Uh… thanks… I guess.”

He washes down the meal with crisp, cool beer. They go through five or six cans before Kotetsu realizes in a tipsy fog that going back home is probably not an option. He winds up sleeping on the gurney inside one of the lab rooms, which he’s used several times during that one hellish week of triple and quadruple shifts. Dr. Saito whispers a good-night, shutting off the rest of the lights on his way out, leaving Kotetsu completely alone in the dark.

Despite his exhaustion it takes longer to fall asleep than he expects.

It’s probably because his body is hurting and his stomach is too full.

Naturally, that must be it.

He doesn’t dwell on the fact that the mattress is thin and too cold, or the fact that there’s no one beside him clinging and snuggling to provide extra warmth. He doesn’t think about the content little smile that appears on someone’s face when he wakes up in the morning, or the ache that settles in his chest when that certain someone leans in and whispers his name with an adoration he doesn’t deserve.

No, what he does is slip into a dreamless sleep, because tomorrow he needs to rise again, body reenergized and ready to fight for another day.  
~*


	14. Chapter 14

Wild Tiger emerges from the ruins of a café with a woman draped over his shoulders and a machine tied to his waist. His power fades just before he reaches the street, causing him to stumble underneath the sudden weight, but he pushes forward, each step stubborn and strong, feet slapping against the ground to raise clouds of ash, his teeth gritted in determination. The machine rattles against his armor, the metal panels blistered and gaping, colorful wires streaming from the cracks. He focuses on the red beacons of ambulance and police lights two blocks ahead.

“Hold on,” he mutters. “We’re almost there.”

The woman whimpers, a reassuring sound, because it’s a sign she’s conscious, which is a damn better state than the man he had found earlier underneath a table, charred black beyond recognition.

He continues walking, steady quick pace, until a policeman spots him and runs up, mouth close to a handheld radio.

“Is she the only survivor?” the policeman asks. The radio buzzes with the white static of conversation.

Kotetsu nods grimly. Together they reach the paramedics, who quickly gather the civilian off his back to place her onto a stretcher. He stares, soaking in the sight of a woman with tears bright in her eyes, dark hair crinkled and stiff, the burn tracks on her limbs shining pink and yellow.

She’s breathing.

It’s enough, just for this moment, to know she’s breathing.

He’s about to turn to leave, ready to deliver the machine to Dr. Saito, when a voice calls out feebly,

“Mr. Tiger.”

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder.

The woman stares, her face pinched with pain, tears mixing with the soot on her skin, her lips quivering.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

In a rush, she’s pulled inside the ambulance, the cart rolling and crunching against gravel. Paramedics crowd around her, blocking Kotetsu’s view, and in seconds the back doors slam shut, the alarms whining above the roar of engines.

He blinks rapidly, his breath caught somewhere between his chest and his throat, as he watches the ambulance weave through traffic and disappear around a corner.

For minutes he stands there in the middle of chaos as people shout and scramble past him to do damage control, taping off the area and flashing their cameras to document the evidence. He hears, but doesn’t process the sounds. He feels, but doesn’t remember the pain chewing through his muscles. He gazes at the empty spot, thinking too much and not at all, while something creeps from his lungs and spreads up his neck, tight and warm. It isn’t until a ray gun taps against his chest plate that he snaps out of the strange mood clouding his mind.

“Get out of the way if you’re not going to help,” Blue Rose says, annoyed. Her freeze ray jerks up and points to the smoldering pile that had once been the café’s front entrance, her finger still on the trigger.

“Eh… oh, sorry…” he mumbles. He spots the white bandage covering her left shoulder and can’t help but notice how she favors her right arm. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Huh? What kind of question is _that_? And coming from someone like you,” she says, scowling with disgust. “Get yourself checked out first, looks like you’ve got a screw loose.”

“Is that so…” he says, not really paying attention to her barbs. He starts walking again, this time in the direction heading toward Apollon Media’s truck. It should be five blocks ahead. Or is it six? He can’t remember, the details of Agnes’ order a haze from the morning.

He yawns twice and has to fight off the waves of dizziness that follow. With a quick shake of his head, he clears the vertigo and pushes onward, facing the pale rising sun, his suit gleaming underneath a shimmering dust of gray.  
~*

 

Dr. Reynolds presses her fingers over Barnaby’s forearm, quietly examining.

“You used your powers?” she asks.

He nods. She confirms that his sprain has fully healed, her fingers leaving his skin to update his chart. An unwrapped splint rests beside the keyboard as she types.

“Your brain scans are normal, and the past few days have shown your medication has effectively suppressed your nightmares and panic attacks. There’s not much reason for me to deny your request to return to work, although I’d still advise waiting a few more weeks,” she says.

“There isn’t time, doctor,” he replies. It’s hard to completely relax around her, but he can’t show his irritation, not when she’s helping. So he remains polite, if not a little stiff. “It may not be an ideal situation, but I have thought this through carefully. As you’ve said, I am stable now, and thus capable of working.”

She ignores his words, her attention concentrated on the report she has to file online. Barnaby hides a frown and busies himself as well on his own computer, skimming through the pages of the data he had gathered overnight regarding NEXT abilities and his own Hero biography. The statistics are surprisingly detailed after being cross-referenced through several sources, and it builds a clear picture of his past performances and skills. It’s through this information he had discovered the multiple applications of Hundred Power, including rapid healing. He wants to test out its full range first in a controlled environment before beginning his duties. After all, the last thing Kotetsu needs is a partner who can’t handle his own powers.

Barnaby minimizes the folder containing notes on his arrest record and brings up the portfolio he’s made of Wild Tiger. This one is at least a week old, having started as a project born out of curiosity. He meticulously compares his own data with Wild Tiger’s to analyze where he can complement the Hero’s strengths and weaknesses.

Almost half an hour passes before Dr. Reynolds speaks up.

“I’ve informed Dr. Kowalski about your interest in testing your powers this afternoon. Normally, it would take weeks to schedule an appointment in one of Apollon’s labs, but it appears your company is eager to have you back,” she says. “You have a meeting with Kowalski’s team in two hours. I suggest we leave now, before traffic gets any worse.”

With a quick swipe of his finger he closes the documents and packs his computer into a case. As a precaution, he also places a tube of white-blue pills inside the pocket of his jacket. It’s his first time wearing anything besides jeans and t-shirts since he’s lost his memories, but somehow the jacket feels familiar and comforting. Leather, red and white, zips up at the front.

He stops by the living room to pick up his keys and catches the reflection in the window gazing at him, an almost identical image of the man who appears in his files as “Barnaby Brooks Jr., Hero.” The only thing lacking is a confident, charismatic smile. In its place is a serious, subdued expression, eyes partially obscured by shaded lenses.

It’s not as though he’s trying to become the person from the videos and news articles. That stranger isn’t him.

But if he has to don the mask of the former Barnaby to help Kotetsu, he will.

He clutches his keys with tense fingers and leaves behind the doppelganger in a solitary silence, the door sliding shut with a dull echo.  
~*

 

Yuri observes the meeting without speaking, waiting for fools to spill out secrets and commit mistakes. The CEOs of all seven companies are here today, a rare event, and he has the displeasure of hosting them inside the grand conference room of the Justice Bureau. Flat, semi-transparent screens float above their heads, capturing clips of the latest fires, news reports about the stock market dive, and the civil unrest teeming within city lines.

A fist slams on the table and knocks over a water glass.

“ _Do you expect us to just sit here while our shareholders bail?_ ” demands Christian Leblanc. CEO of Kronos Foods, he’s the most likely to shout to sound important than reveal anything of interest. Yuri listens with a bored ear, preferring to keep a keen eye on two particular individuals instead.

“I assure you that my company is working hard to find a way to battle these machines,” Albert Maverick answers. His hands are clasped and steady. “You will not have to sit for long. Wild Tiger has provided a machine for us to analyze.”

“ _Do you think that's enough?_ ” Leblanc bellows.

“Please allow me to finish. I would also like to note that in our progress, we’ve discovered that they are traceable,” Maverick says.

Yuri purses his lips as Apollon's chief executive gains the rapt attention of his peers.

“We’ve already located one machine, which was planted in Primrose Suites,” he continues. With a flick of his wrist, he pulls up a screenshot of the hotel on one of the projectors. Its Romanesque marble structure remains unharmed, standing boldly against a smog coated sky. “I’ve sent Tiger to dismantle the machine before it activates.”

“Can the other Heroes destroy the machines as well if they’re not activated?” Yung-fa Chang, CEO of Odysseus Communications, leans forward with a speculative glint in his dark eyes.

“Theoretically, my scientists say yes,” Maverick answers. “But to be safe, I've decided to send Wild Tiger this time, as he’s most suited to deal with the machine in case of another fire.”

The others mutter amongst each other, most likely contemplating how to use their own Heroes to their advantage.

“Well, I must say Apollon is exceptionally quick on this matter,” Diana Merkel remarks. CEO of Helios Energy, she has a severe countenance and an acerbic tone to match her cropped gray hair and frown lines, but her temper is softened by a calculating femininity. “According to my sources, Wild Tiger turned in a machine only seven hours ago.”

“My team discovered the tracer for the machines through fortitude and fast action,” Maverick says. He smiles slightly. “I can only thank them for being so remarkable.”

Merkel raises her eyebrows.

“And this has nothing to do with Apollon’s latest research regarding robotics?” she asks softly.

The others react with shock, discomfort, anger, and confusion. None of them dare to interrupt the conversation though, willing Maverick to make his move. Yuri observes Merkel with renewed interest while carefully sipping a cup of tea. If his suspicions are correct, the tension between the two companies stems from the antagonistic relationship between these chief executives.

“My, what a claim to make,” Maverick says, amused but gentle. “I assure you my company has no associations with those machines. Why on earth would we create such a thing?”

“I only ask because it is possible someone else is using your technology,” Merkel explains. “I never would dare imply your culpability, a matter which you brought up on your own. Everyone in this room knows Apollon Media has suffered quite significant losses due to the fire.”

Maverick’s amusement fades away, his expression grave and a touch displeased. Yuri makes a mental note to update his files on Apollon Media’s activities after this meeting.

“Ah, thank you, Diana,” Maverick says. “But I must add that our company has never had in mind the creation of anything so blatantly offensive. The Hero suits are only meant to protect and enhance the abilities of the Heroes themselves. Our technology is strictly defensive, thus anyone with a mind to use it would have to be very creative.”

“I see,” Merkel says. “But you are confident your technology is enough to end these fires?”

“Not entirely. I have faith we will be able to track down the rest of the machines before it’s too late,” Maverick says. “But it’s up to the Heroes to destroy them once and for all. So I ask for everyone’s cooperation and strength. After all, it is together we can bring peace back to Sternbild.”

The others physically relax with such placating words, but Yuri can tell they haven’t let down their guards. To mask the uneasy tension, false cheer rings inside the conference with almost absurd enthusiasm.

“That’s right!”

“Yes, let’s believe in the Heroes.”

“If we execute this properly, our stocks will revive.”

“The Heroes will pull through.”

Yuri sets his cup down onto a saucer.

“We should plan to divide the work between the Heroes to ensure the quickest suppression of these fires,” he says. “And as a reminder, please make sure they do not tamper with any evidence after the incidents by mistake. Apprehending the perpetrators of these crimes remains the highest priority for the Justice Bureau.”

Murmurs of agreement rise in the air, but Yuri’s not satisfied. There’s something strange lurking underneath the words and behavior of the executives, something he hasn’t quite figured out yet.

He will though. Whether it be through cautious observation or blunt force.  
~*

 

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Commencing Speed Test R-53X in 5… 4…”

Barnaby lifts his head, eyes narrowed.

“3… 2… 1…”

Blue light blazes over his body. He reaches the end of the track in four seconds.

“Good. Average time is 101.4 meters per second. Next is the Agility Test. At the start of the whistle, you must avoid contact with any and all moving objects. Feel free to use the simulation environment to your advantage.”

Barnaby nods. With the shrill of a whistle, he leaps in the air to avoid an incoming car. The same moment a rocket launches in his direction, spiraling erratically. His legs fold underneath to dodge it.

More cars rush into the street, and if he doesn’t correct his trajectory, he’ll surely collide into them as he lands. Thinking fast, he kicks a nearby lamppost to rebound safely to the ground at a distance.

Without warning, bullets and knives rain down from the ceiling, forcing him to zigzag and duck and contort his body in creative ways. He wastes precious seconds and energy defending against blades and gunpowder, panicked by the thought of losing.

“As a reminder, you may use your environment to your advantage.”

His back hits the windshield of a stationary car, which gives him an idea.

Wild Tiger would often lift up vehicles with ease to protect the driver from crashing fatally.

Hands grip the bottom.

The weight barely registers as he holds the car above his head, letting the knives and bullets puncture its frame.

However, it’s a temporary solution.

Men with machine guns encircle him, their aims locked. Arms still raised, he scans around their bodies for a weak point, his legs braced for action.

There is no weak point.

He jumps as shots explode at the center. The car slams against the fake sky, grating the solid material and generating angry sparks. He abandons it and falls on top of a building. The scenery darkens, and the building transforms into a skyscraper, which looms over the smoldering ruins of a city as a proud and lonely tower.

His ears pick up the scruff-scritch of feet. He tenses and turns around, ready to evade another attack.

His heart stops.

His mouth is dry, and suddenly his mind is blank. The careful, analytical data he’s gathered about battle strategies and NEXT powers vanishes into smoke.

Wild Tiger stands with his hands loose at his sides. There’s a feral look to the armor, the mask carved in cruel gashes, yellow eyes gleaming, white paint swallowed up by black shadows.

In an instant, a fist strikes his head, knocking him back with such force that he stumbles and trips over the ledge of the rooftop.

All he sees is the faint, blurry glow of green as he falls in dazed shock.

 _“Old man, get out of my way.”_

 _“This is your fault.”_

 _“If you hadn’t stopped me back there, this wouldn’t have happened.”_

 _“I didn’t want to team up with you.”_

 _“I have no intention asking for your help.”_

 _“I don’t trust you.”_

He realizes he’s flat on his back when cold water splatters over his face.

“Good work, Barnaby. It seems your powers haven’t been affected by your hospitalization,” Dr. Kowalski says over the intercom. “This is enough to meet your company’s requirements. I expect you’ll be on call almost immediately. As you may know, Sternbild needs its Heroes right now.”

Barnaby coughs and blinks away the rain pooling in the corners of his eyes. The simulation’s buildings and streets fade, leaving him in the blank chamber of a laboratory. Voices reach his ears, first faint, then steadily louder, clear as though they're right next to him.

 _“I can handle everything by myself.”_

 _“Are you sure, Bunny? But what if — ”_

 _“There’s nothing for you to be concerned about. Go to your daughter’s graduation.”_

 _“W-well… if you say so. Heh, thanks partner!”_

 _He waits for the man to leave before pulling up a file on his computer._

 _Two images appear on the screen. One is of a serpent devouring its own tail, its body pierced with a dagger._

 _He stares at the second picture, shaking with irrepressible emotion. Rage, icy hot, fills the hollow spaces of his heart until it’s nearly bursting. Finally, after twenty nightmare-drawn years, he’s had a breakthrough._

 _It’s_ him. __

 _But the picture is covered in flames, obscuring the face of the culprit._

A headache splits across his skull, pain seething through every inch of his body. His hand twitches, seeking out two white-blue pills, but he can’t reach, paralyzed and blinded by the flames licking over his skin. The inferno swells, enveloping him, and all he hears is indistinct laughter and the crackle of wood.

Dr. Reynolds and Dr. Kowalski run inside the lab, yelling his name.

“His heart rate and blood pressure has increased three-fold,” Dr. Reynolds says. “We’re lucky he’s used up his power just now, otherwise he could have activated it and gone berserk.”

“We’re going to have to put this on the assessment,” Dr. Kowalski says. “He might be more of a hindrance than a help if these episodes persist.”

“I’m fine,” Barnaby whispers. He struggles to see past the flames, willing the voices to drown out the ghosts of a laugh. In his effort, the silhouettes of two physicians begin to form in cloudy lines, the fire pushed out to the edges of his vision. He concentrates on making those flames disappear entirely. Slowly, it helps his mind return to its conscious state, rendering the episode brief.

He sits up shakily. Dr. Kowalski gazes at him with incredulous surprise, Dr. Reynolds with irritated concern. She pulls out an orange bottle from her pocket and offers him two white-blue capsules. He accepts them and swallows quickly.

“These pills will prevent future episodes,” he says. The tremors in his arms are fading, and so is the headache. “If I take one before a mission, I shouldn’t have problems.”

“But surely — ” Dr. Kowalski begins.

With a sigh, Dr. Reynolds rubs her temples.

“Apollon Media is already aware of the situation,” she says. She tucks a strand of mousey hair behind her ear. “They’re desperate for him to return though, and are willing to hold him responsible for his own safety.”

A moment of gruff silence lingers.

“…Clarissa, if it weren’t for Sternbild burning day and night, I’d give Apollon a piece of my mind for letting someone in his condition fight,” he says. He glances at Barnaby. “But if he understands and accepts the risks of being a Hero as he is, I guess I can’t do much about it.”

Barnaby wipes off the excess water on his face. He can still taste the bitter chalky flavor of the pills on his tongue.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.  
~*

 

Kotetsu listens to the phone ring for the fifth time, worried and on the verge of panicking. He’s arrived a bit late, thanks to Mr. Maverick asking him to bring back more machines during the day, but it’s not late enough for his partner to be sleeping. Someone should at least answer the door, the day guard or the doctor lady, but his knocking receives no response.

“Come on,” he mutters. Taking the phone away from his ear, he stares at the screen with dismay.

“Mr. Kotetsu?”

He almost has a heart attack. His phone clatters on the ground as he spins around to face Barnaby, who stands beside Dr. Reynolds with wide eyes.

“Bunny! Where have you been?” he asks anxiously.

“He’s been in training,” Dr. Reynolds answers. “The session ran longer than planned, so I apologize if we made you wait, Mr. Kaburagi.”

“You’re okay?” Barnaby asks. He steps forward and reaches out, hesitant fingers grazing Kotetsu’s cheek.

Barnaby’s hand is cold and the pointed end of a black ring catches slightly on his skin. It’s those little details that convince him, yes, his partner is perfectly fine right now. There’s no reason to be paranoid.

“Of course, I’m okay!” Kotetsu replies. He grins. “Did you miss me or something?”

“Yes,” Barnaby says simply. “I saw you on TV the other day. I thought you had been hospitalized.”

His grin falters, and he laughs sheepishly to cover it up.

“Ah, that was pretty embarrassing, wasn’t it? But nevermind that. Did you eat dinner yet?”

As they step inside the apartment, the motion-sensor lights switch on immediately. He lets Dr. Reynolds through first to allow her to set down her medical equipment and bags inside the kitchen. Barnaby stands with him, wearing his old coat and his favorite red boots. It occurs to Kotetsu only then that he hasn’t seen Barnaby dressed like this in a while, and it’s almost as though…

No, he shouldn’t go there. This Barnaby is different.

“Mr. Kotetsu?”

He blinks, realizing that they’re standing a little closer than he previously noticed.

“Are you really all right?”

“Hmm? Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” he says.

“It just seems like you’re working very hard,” Barnaby answers.

“Well, that’s what an adult’s life is like, Bunny. But it’s not too bad.” He leans away, creating some distance. Being so close is uncomfortable for some reason.

His eyes find the giant window, the view it provides distracting him from the awkwardness with a glimmering constellation of golden buildings and neon-pink signs. He thinks even with the chaos of the fires, Sternbild remains beautiful and alive, especially at night. Like his partner, he wants to protect this fragile place, wants to end the terrors haunting it day by day, until Sternbild could stand on its own again, proud and magnificent.

His thoughts break when arms wrap around his waist, hugging him from behind. Suddenly, the sight of Sternbild is replaced by the reflection of him and Barnaby in the window, and he can see his own expression, shocked and confused, as his partner rests his head on a shoulder.

“…Bunny?”

“It’s enough that you’re here,” Barnaby says. He’s looking at the window as well, and there’s an odd intensity to his green eyes. He sighs softly, warming the spot near Kotetsu’s neck. “I can think about recovering because you’re with me.”

Arms tighten around him.

“Mr. Kotetsu, I want to stay by your side,” he whispers. “So please don’t let yourself get hurt.”

He doesn’t know what to say, too caught up in the warmth of Barnaby’s arms and the gentle, sweet words drifting into his ear. It’s too much, and he wants to shove it all away, gain some normality, but at the same time he finds it hard to resist, wants to savor this affection that he hasn’t known he’s wanted. He’s tired, and maybe, just this once, it’s okay to let Barnaby do this, to comfort him rather than simply cling, because…

The sound of dishes clattering in the kitchen interrupts the moment, lets it slip away into the night, stealing whatever could have been.

As Barnaby releases him, his arm bumps against Kotetsu’s wrist, causing a blue screen to pop up.

“Ah! I nearly forgot,” Kotetsu says. Thankful for the switch in topic, he raises his left arm, pointing at his wristband. “I wanted to teach you how to use this. You’ve probably forgotten, haven’t you?”

“What is it?”

“A communicator. You can use it to contact me if you ever need anything,” Kotetsu says. He presses a button that allows the screen to display his profile picture. “You have one of these too. You use this button here for calls only, this one’s for call and video, and this one reaches Hero TV headquarters, although you probably don’t need that…”

They spend the next half hour going through the basics of using a communicator. Kotetsu doesn’t say anything about Barnaby leaning too close, now used to the lack of personal space. There’s no weirdly intense moment to make him backpedal or stutter either, and it’s not as though he minds if it means Barnaby can see the buttons better. Plus the conversation is pleasant, one involving him mostly talking and Barnaby asking smart (maybe too smart, since Kotetsu isn’t a tech geek like Dr. Saito) questions about comm links and satellite stations.

“Hey, we should find your communicator too,” Kotetsu says. “I think it was in the bag that Agnes made me bring over months ago.”

His stomach gurgles noisily, causing Barnaby to chuckle.

“We can do that later,” he says. “Let’s eat together.”

Kotetsu rubs the back of his head, embarrassed.

“Good idea, Bunny,” he says. He taps the bracelet to shut off the annoying ringtone.  
~*

 

Barnaby smiles into his pillow, his eyes open just enough to see Kotetsu snoring beside him. They had managed to find his wristband after searching for a few hours. The apartment is much messier now, but he likes doing things together besides eating and sleeping. It's almost like those first two weeks, when he had Kotetsu all to himself, and a selfish part of him still misses that period, misses going out to parks and playing paintball. But soon, he can do better than that by working with Kotetsu and helping him defend his beloved city.

He toys with the wristband idly, the smooth metallic frame snug on his wrist. It matches with the green one.

To add to his good mood, the pills are working, because he can barely recall what happened after the simulation, the whole incident vague and elusive like a forgotten dream.

For everyone's sake, it's best left that way.

He touches Kotetsu’s cheek again, amused when a slack expression changes into a bewildered frown and a wrinkled nose.

In the morning, he’ll tell Kotetsu about the exciting news.

He closes his eyes, hand falling to land on a firm chest.

To his surprise, Kotetsu shifts in his sleep, inching closer.

His smile widens, and he allows himself to sigh contently, a bright wave of happiness rushing through his body.  
~*


	15. Chapter 15

Kotetsu brushes his teeth, bleary-eyed, his hair sticking up in all sorts of directions, shirt wrinkled and misbuttoned. Foam bubbles in the corners of his lips and spills onto the bathroom sink in white puddles, but he finds it hard to care about the mess when fatigue still weighs down his body like sandbags. On top of that, it’s difficult to resist the urge to sit on the floor and curl up against the cabinet to take a nap.

Barnaby appears in the doorway, fully dressed and fresh-faced, looking oddly cheerful despite the gloom of a rainy morning.

“I packed your lunch,” he says. “Extra mayo with no tomato, just as you like.”

Kotetsu grunts, not quite awake enough to produce words to string them into a coherent sentence. Barnaby leaves, smiling about something or another, and he can hear a conversation rising from the kitchen with Dr. Reynolds. It takes a few more minutes to realize how strange it is that Barnaby’s making him meals for work. Normally, he leaves in a rush after waking up late, barely managing to throw a good-bye over his shoulder while he squeezes his feet into leather shoes and clips his work badge inside his pocket. Today there isn’t a rush because a certain someone nudged him awake a good hour before he has to reach the office.

By the time he’s finished fixing his tie, he finds Barnaby waiting in the kitchen with two steaming mugs of coffee and plates of breakfast. Dr. Reynolds types away on her laptop, ignoring them both.

“Thanks,” Kotetsu says. He sits down and immediately starts on the coffee only to wince when it burns the roof of his mouth.

“Mr. Kotetsu,” Barnaby says. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Hmm?” He blows on the surface of the coffee, impatiently waiting for it to cool into a temperature below scalding.

“I’ve been thinking it’s time for me to get back to work,” Barnaby says. He stares at his own mug. “I’ve asked Apollon Media about a job offer. They agreed to let me start today.”

“Oh, that’s nice, Bu — ”

Kotetsu freezes as his mind processes the information.

“It’s exciting, isn’t it? We can become partners again!” Barnaby looks up, smiling eagerly. “Don’t worry, Mr. Kotetsu, my powers are in good shape and I’ve researched what I need to do to succeed on Hero TV.”

His mouth flaps open like a stunned goldfish.

“I’m sure it must be tough on you to work alone, especially with all those fires. Mr. Maverick’s informed me that both our suits are fireproof, which means I can assist you when another attack occurs.”

He can almost feel his jaw hit the table.

“Oh, and Mr. Maverick said something about dismantling a machine and I’m not certain what he means. Maybe you can explain while we walk to work?”

Kotetsu takes a deep breath.

“No,” he says.

Barnaby stops talking, confused.

“No what?” he asks, his voice softer and calmer than before.

“T-t-this is too fast!” Kotetsu gestures wildly at Barnaby. “You’re still healing! It’s barely been a few months since you left the hospital! You shouldn’t rush into things like this, Bunny, it’s not good for you. What if you get hurt? Or have one of those episodes Dr. Reynolds keeps talking about? You should be resting.”

“I’m fine now,” Barnaby says. “I’ve found a medication that allows me function normally. If you’re concerned about that, I’ve been cleared by two physicians.”

“That’s not the issue! You might not remember, but being a Hero is _tough_. You can’t just make the decision to work so lightly. It’s not meant for everyone. It’s better for you to stay here,” Kotetsu declares.

Barnaby’s hands clench around the mug and his shoulders tremble. There’s something in his eyes that makes Kotetsu flinch back, uncertain and surprised.

“Please do not assume I’m making this decision carelessly,” Barnaby says, ice sharpening his words. “I’ve worked as a Hero before.”

“B-Bunny?”

The phantom disappears, the harshness behind spectacles melting away into a sad, worried expression.

“You’ve done so much for me, Mr. Kotetsu,” he says. “I want to be able to help you back.”

Kotetsu’s throat hurts. He glances away, eyes half-lidded, and says quietly,

“And I want you to be safe. It’s really dangerous out there right now. People are getting injured and dying because of those fires. I understand why you want to help but… you can’t. I won’t let you.”

“Mr. Kotetsu — ”

He shakes his head.

“No. I’m sorry, Bunny.”

The chair creaks as he gets up.

“I’ll talk to Mr. Lloyds when I get to the office about this. You should focus on getting better. I can take care of things, so don’t worry about that.”

“But — ”

“Really, it’s fine. I’ve been a Hero for over ten years. This is nothing.”

He grabs his raincoat, pulling the sleeves over his arms, and walks away quickly, ignoring the faint protests from the kitchen. It’s still a half hour before he has to leave, but arriving earlier means he can talk to Mr. Lloyds sooner. He restrains the anger settling inside his stomach, not wanting to show the other two the extent of his outrage. Ever since Barnaby’s lost his memories, Kotetsu’s known that the company couldn’t give a damn about the man’s well-being, caring only for profit and marketability. He doesn’t really have a plan for what he’ll do to stop them from exploiting his partner again, aside from yelling and waving his fists around, but he figures he’ll come up with something by the time he reaches the building.

His hand touches the panel on the wall to open the door when something catches on his coat. Fingers, pale and slender, hold onto the hem stubbornly.

“This isn’t nothing,” Barnaby says. “You’re exhausted and two days ago you almost died from an explosion. You can’t lie and say everything’s fine when you can barely wake up in the morning by yourself.”

“Oi,” Kotetsu says, a spike of anger lancing up his diaphragm. “Let go. I need to get to work.”

“I’m going with you,” Barnaby says. “You can’t stop me. They’ve already made it official.”

Once more, Kotetsu breathes in deeply. With a smooth motion, he pulls his cap over his eyes, hiding the frustration threatening to seep out. With great effort, he attempts to smile.

“Bunny,” he says, twisting into the grip and bending so that his lips nearly brush the shell of an ear. He can hear a surprised gasp. “Let’s talk about this later, okay? I really need to go.”

His hand slaps the button to open the door. Before Barnaby can react, he’s running out into the hallway, skidding to a stop when he overshoots the elevator. He manages to squeeze in just before the elevator closes, preventing Barnaby from immediately following. A sigh of relief escapes from his mouth until he realizes he’s forgotten something.

His mask.

“Tch! Of all the things,” he mutters. Well, he can’t exactly go back now.

Plus he should have some spares in the office.  
~*

 

Barnaby bites the inside of his cheek, hurt and confusion mixing together to create a cold, unpleasant cast over his body. This is not how he imagined things would turn out. He hadn’t planned on what he’d do if Kotetsu had a negative reaction.

Second thoughts flood his brain, turning over the conversation again and again, until he’s desperately trying to defend himself, making points he should’ve made to Kotetsu, suggesting compromises and offering reassurances more convincing and honest than his first attempt. Maybe he’s doing this all wrong, but he doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to do, doesn’t understand how he can get Kotetsu to stop putting on a brave face and think for himself instead of others.

 _“I don’t trust you.”_

The epiphany strikes with lightning precision, branching into roots, illuminating the jumble called his thoughts to reveal a clear strand of understanding.

Kotetsu doesn’t trust him.

He thinks about it further, and admits that so far, he hasn’t done much to show he’s competent in front the man, having worked almost entirely alone to set up this plan. Maybe that’s the problem.

Maybe he needs to show Kotetsu what he’s capable of.

His hand brushes against the communicator. With quiet steps he walks past the kitchen, only for a black shape to catch in the corner of his vision. He halts and picks up the familiar domino mask.

Perfect. An excuse to run after Kotetsu.  
~*

 

Walking in the rain helps cool his head, lets the anger simmer down, but so far no bright ideas emerge on what he’s going to do when he reaches the office. Guess he’ll have to wing it, like always, and hope for the best.

He jumps away from the sidewalk as a car splashes past, cursing when water gets into his shoes and wets his socks. Today is going to be a long day, he thinks mournfully, his feet squelching with each step, even longer than usual. And he can’t drink either, not if he has to watch over his partner in the evening.

Droplets bead around the hood of his jacket while he waits for the crossing sign. Cars zip in and out of the wide streets, windshield wipers waving furiously, the glare from headlights brightening the roads in patches. He’s not really paying much attention until he hears the sound of a woman shouting.

A small child runs out to the street, chasing after a piece of paper tumbling in the wind, oblivious to the incoming car.

He doesn’t hesitate.

Sprinting, he grabs the kid by the collar and lands on the opposite side of the road, only to hear a car screeching and crashing. He stares at the wreckage, the traffic building around the accident, and knows what he has to do.

“So much for being early,” Kotetsu groans. “Or on time.”

The blue aura radiates from his skin while a small child wriggles in his arms.

“Mark! What on earth were you thinking?” A woman reaches out to take the child from him. “Thank you so much, sir. I can’t believe — Mark! How many times have I told you not to — ”

His attention shifts to the drivers. With a few leaps he lands on the hood of the first car. Thankfully, the driver is alert, but the front door is crushed against the trunk of a minivan. Using his Hundred Power, he separates the vehicles easily, careful not to jostle the passengers too much in case of injury. With a quick yank, he pulls off the door on the driver’s side.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“I-I h-hit s-someone,” the teenager stammers in shock. Kotetsu cringes when he notices the blood pooling on the carpet. Left leg is in bad shape, but no other signs of injuries. He takes out his phone to call emergency services.

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Kotetsu says. “Just hang in there. It’ll be okay.”

He spends the next twenty minutes waiting for the ambulance to arrive. One teenager and one middle-aged woman, both shaken but conscious. The woman’s stepped out of her minivan, her hands trembling as she speaks rapidly into her cell phone. By now the intersection is chaotic, cars honking in the downpour, people gathering in the corners to observe the situation. As soon as he hears the sirens, he ducks into the street, blending in with the crowd of morbidly curious onlookers. He decides to take a short-cut, preferring not to be caught up in the messiness of a police interview when he has business to deal with.

The alleyway is dim, muting the noise of rain and traffic with rust-colored bricks. He shivers, the fabric of his pants sticking uncomfortably to his legs, his breath swirling out in white puffs.

He’s about to turn the corner into a small, dirt-paved street when a finger taps on his shoulder.

“Hey, Kotetsu.”

His shoes grind against the ground, scraping stray pebbles.

A meaty fist swings and impacts.

He leaps backwards, glaring. The man swears and removes his fist from the brick wall, knuckles angry and swollen.

“What do you want with me?” he asks.

The man is taller than Kotetsu by a good six inches, towering with a round belly and bulging, muscular limbs. He wears a tattered cotton shirt and industrial jeans with peeling, steel-toed boots. A beard, blond and gristly, hangs past an Adam's apple.

“We want revenge,” says a female voice.

From behind, a woman with a ratty sweater and stringy dark hair appears.

She isn’t the only one.

At least eight more step from the shadows, their eyes cruel and predatory.

“I don’t have time for this,” he says, irritated. “I don’t have any money to give you guys, so just scram, will you?”

“He’s as stupid as the rumors say,” the woman remarks. “Didn’t you hear me? We’re not out for money, Wild Tiger.”

The entire alleyway floods with blue light.  
~*

 

Barnaby frowns when the communicator informs him Kotetsu isn’t picking up his call. Maybe he should try again, or wait to meet up with Kotetsu at the office? His hand reaches into his pocket, feeling the smoothness of a mask.

Before he can make a decision, his wristband beeps urgently. He presses the button for video call.

“Bonjour, Hero.”

This must be the producer of Hero TV, Agnes Joubert.

“I have a message for you and Tiger,” she says. Under her breath, she grumbles, “Idiot must have damaged his communicator again.”

“What is it, Ms. Joubert?” he asks.

“Some important information about the machines. According to Maverick’s scientists, the machines are set to activate after twenty-four hours of being implanted in a building. Tiger’s managed to collect all of the ones found yesterday, but it looks like another batch has cropped up last night. I’ll send the coordinates to your communicator. The other Heroes will take care of the ones in the Silver and Bronze stages, so your job and Tiger’s is to deactivate the ones on Gold.”

“I’ll let him know,” Barnaby says.

The woman’s rouge-painted lips curve into a slight, strange smile.

“Thank you, Barnaby.”

The screen switches off. He brings up the menu selection, wondering if he can reach Kotetsu if he tries the voice-only option.

 _Calling Kotetsu T. Kaburagi . . ._

A bad feeling twists in his gut. Last night he learned the communicator assigned to Wild Tiger had been specially reinforced to allow it to withstand tremendous abuse, making it unlikely that it could've broken already. But if the communicator isn’t broken, then the other possible explanation is that Kotetsu is ignoring his calls. But that’s not like him at all, not when the man takes his job so seriously. Barnaby picks up pace, eyes darting this way and that for a sign of Kotetsu’s familiar body language, or his hat, or maybe even his shoes. The rain lowers visibility, and everyone carries with them the same kind of coats and umbrellas, frustrating Barnaby’s search.

He reaches an intersection sectioned off with yellow tape. A security guard blows his whistle and motions for people to take a detour. Bystanders gossip excitedly, questions fly into the air, and necks crane to see the extent of the damage.

“A NEXT ran into the middle of the street, how irresponsible!”

“Really? What I heard is that a NEXT was saving some kid who almost got hit by a car.”

“Either way, what terrible luck.”

“Oh, but that NEXT looked sort of like a Hero, didn’t he?”

Barnaby’s ears prickle at the words. A group of people around his age stand beside him, oblivious to the fact that they just gained another listener.

“Are you sure? I thought almost all of their identities were a secret?”

“Well, I’ve seen Blue Rose and Wild Tiger up close before! This guy looked kind of like him,” says one of the girls. She tucks a lock of auburn hair over her ear and adjusts her beige scarf. “He didn’t stay for long though. I saw him run off somewhere, maybe to do his Hero duties or something.”

“Listen to yourself,” someone jeers. “Guy probably got scared and hid before the police came.”

“But I’m sure! He had the same build and hair style as Wild Tiger,” the girl insists.

“Excuse me,” Barnaby says.

The group’s conversation dies down, their mouths opening slightly.

“B-Barnaby Brooks Jr.?” the girl with the scarf squeaks.

“Please tell me where you saw this man leave.”

“U-uh, well it was that way! It leads to Olive Street instead of Fifth Avenue!” Her face is bright red.

“Thank you,” Barnaby says.

He pushes through the crowd and breaks into a dash, the sound of conversation dying away as a girl yells, “What did I say? It _must_ have been Wild Tiger!”  
~*

 

“Shit, he’s a slippery bastard.”

Kotetsu punches away the short guy with horns sticking out of his head only to yelp when a blast of electricity singes the wall a few centimeters from where he’s standing. He looks around, fingers on his wristwatch ready to release his wire, but there’s nothing to latch onto.

“C’mere you scum.”

He jumps on top of the rhinoceros NEXT and tries to escape back onto the main street he’s come from earlier, but the others quickly surround him, effectively blocking off that exit. He’s not stupid enough to try and take on all of them, preferring to leave this scene walking rather than limping or worse, but his choices are getting slimmer the more they cage him inside.

“Hey, I don’t know what I did to piss you guys off, but I’m sure we can talk about this. Right? Guys?”

Insects swarm out from a woman’s body in a seething, black mass. Kotetsu backtracks quickly.

“Okay, so you don’t want to talk, that’s fine!”

He uses the insects as cover while a few of the NEXTs scream at the woman for releasing flying cockroaches everywhere. His knees and elbows hit the ground, crawling blindly toward the direction he thinks will lead to the dirt-paved street ahead.

A blast of fire scorches the insects into powder. He flattens his body to avoid being burnt to death too.

“Fucking hell, Scud, you nearly got Rat-Boy! Easy with that stupid breath of yours.”

With that distraction, Kotetsu starts running again, his shoes sliding awkwardly in the mud. He’s out of the alleyway now.

“You guys are useless. Let me handle this!”

Suddenly, the mud hardens around his legs and sinks into his shoes, trapping him. He struggles to break free, but finds the material is tougher than concrete.

His watch tells him he still has twenty-five minutes before he can use his Hundred Power.

“Nice work, Ed.”

At the entrance of the alleyway, the ground transforms into sand and a red-headed boy emerges, grinning wickedly.

“What’s wrong? Can’t use your powers?” the boy mocks.

The other NEXTs gather around Kotetsu, circling like wolves, licking their lips and baring their teeth with nasty, gleeful anticipation.

One woman raises her arm, or what used to her arm, now no longer flesh but composed of many sharp blades.

A barefooted man makes a clicking noise with his massive talons, his eagle wings flapping restlessly, slit-pupils dilating in excitement.

Another pulls down her hood, revealing the faded mark of an Ouroboros tattoo on her white forehead.

“We intend to prolong this,” she says. “Consider it payback for killing our boss.”

Kotetsu doesn’t understand.

“Y-you’ve got it all wrong! I haven’t killed anyone,” he says desperately. “This is a mistake!”

“Lies,” the woman says thickly. “Does the name Ling Wu ring a bell?”

He stops struggling, his face growing pale. It rings more than a bell.

A sallow-faced man with a gun aimed at his own head, grinning with the promise of death. A storm of bullets discharging within a helicopter and ricocheting off the walls. Eyes, blue and manic, peering upwards as the NEXT thrust Kotetsu's arm through his body. And later, a name printed on a dossier, uncovered by Nathan's efforts.

“You killed our boss and five of his men,” she hisses. The fire from her eyes flares with hatred. “Now look at the rest of us.”

Sour, twisted faces gaze straight at Kotetsu as one by one, the strangers unveil their faded marks.

Marks identical to the Ouroboros tattooed on the hand of a sallow-faced man with a gun.

“Without him, the rest of us were just trash. Vermin, to be eliminated,” she says.

A boy spits in contempt, a fireball hitting the ground near Kotetsu’s leg. He can feel the heat warming his side, tickling upwards.

“So this is payback. Consider us generous for giving you double the amount you gave to Wu,” she says.

The not-mud grows alive and squeezes his legs, spreading up to his torso to seal him in place.

He screams when blades bite into his shoulder, severing nerves and hacking away muscle with greedy teeth. Scissoring motions generate razor vibrations from the NEXT’s upper arm, the blades rising up and down in waves of jagged metal. Blood sprays out, soaking his shirt, and he can _feel_ the bone being sawed away with agonizing slowness, grinding down with a horrible _scriiiitch scriitch_. He keeps screaming and screaming, but there’s no one to stop the knives from devouring his body in hungry, beastly chunks.

“Just kidding. That was only a taste.”

Panting, he realizes his shoulder is uninjured and that they’re laughing. The female NEXT with blades is standing a few feet away with her arm clean of blood.

The NEXT with the tattoo on her forehead smirks, her fingers touching the bottom of her lip.

“That was a pretty realistic hallucination, wasn’t it?” she says.

“Eve, you better leave enough of his sanity so the rest of us can enjoy ripping him apart too,” someone says. More laughter ripples through the group while Kotetsu’s ears pound with blood.

He grits his teeth. The worst scenario is waiting until the limit passes to activate his Hundred Power, enduring what he can in the meantime. The best scenario is…

He can’t think of one.

The giant, bearded NEXT steps up, his non-swollen fist ready.

Kotetsu’s head snaps back, his jaw stinging.

“Finally got a hit, eh, Dutch?”

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” the NEXT grunts. He raises his fist again for another punch.

Without warning, the mud around Kotetsu’s body shatters and in instant he’s thrown in the sky.

Hands grip his torso and thighs, clutching him to a damp chest.

It's all too familiar and foreign at once.

“B-Bunny?” he whispers, not quite believing.

Eyes shrouded in blue glance down.

“Mr. Kotetsu, please hold on,” he says. They land roughly on the roof of a brick building only for jets of fire and a surge of insects to chase after them. Barnaby sucks in a breath and leaps with Kotetsu in his arms, jumping between rooftops in arcs of light.

When they reach ten blocks from the original alleyway, Barnaby slows to a stop, analyzing his surroundings for another threat, his entire body tense and alert.

After a minute, his shoulders relax.

“We should be safe now,” he says, easing Kotetsu down.

“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?”

Immediately, he moves in front of Kotetsu, shielding protectively. Rising from the ground inexplicably is the redheaded NEXT boy, a smug, ugly grin marring his young face.

“Leave him alone,” Barnaby says, his voice shaking. “I can’t promise I won’t hurt you if you try anything.”

“Hah! I knew you Heroes were pathetic,” the boy sneers. “What kind of weak comeback is that?”

More NEXTs arrive, clinging onto the legs of the man with giant wings. Barnaby’s hand finds Kotetsu’s and clasps it firmly.

They soar into the air the second before fire, blades, and electricity assault the rooftop. Kotetsu checks his watch again, cursing when it informs him that there's still three minutes left.

“Bunny, let me use my wire. We should split up so it’s harder for them to track us,” he says.

Barnaby continues jumping between buildings, half-carrying and half-dragging Kotetsu along.

“Oi, Bunny, are you listening? I said we should split — ”

“You haven’t activated your powers yet, meaning you’ve probably used them up earlier,” Barnaby interrupts. “You’ll be vulnerable if we do as you say.”

“Look, I can use my wire now and my power’s going to be back pretty soon so it’s not — ”

“Please stop.”

Something wet hits Kotetsu’s cheek.

It’s not rain.

“Don’t say those things. I don’t want us to be apart,” Barnaby whispers. Tears stream down his face, salty and warm.

Kotetsu falls silent, letting his partner’s words sink in.

When they reach the golden lion statue, a hallmark of Apollon Media’s headquarters, Barnaby sets Kotetsu down again and wipes his face dry. He doesn’t stop sniffling though, and it’s only then it becomes obvious how badly his legs are trembling in red boots.

Kotetsu must be the worst partner ever.

Here is Barnaby, trying so hard to be courageous, and all he’s done is dismiss his efforts.

“Bunny,” he says. He reaches out to touch his partner’s hand, squeezing it like he used to before. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were…”

A knife slices the air and separates them. Wings stretch their full length, covering both men in shadow. Barnaby’s exhausted his power, meaning it’s up to Kotetsu now to protect his partner. The blue aura returns with fervor, igniting the anger that had boiled inside him all morning.

“You’re persistent bastards, aren’t you?” Kotetsu shouts. He points his watch in the direction of the eagle NEXT, aiming his wire for the neck.

“Mr. Kotetsu, wait!”

Flames, blue-green, lash through the rain and pierce the wings of the NEXT, quickly setting them ablaze, causing the man to holler and screech horribly. The other NEXTs clutching him scramble to get their feet onto the rooftop, but the erratic, panicking flight causes them to be tossed like ragdolls down the height of fifty floors. The ones lucky to be still clinging on aren’t so lucky when blue-green flames burst over their bodies, cooking them alive.

A crossbow aims at the writhing forms and another bolt stabs through the man. Feathers melt away, talons disappearing in place of human feet, a face rigid and eyes bulging. All of them plummet to the ground, the flames receding with the certainty of death. In seconds, Kotetsu hears a faint, sickening crunch.

“Vermin indeed,” Lunatic says. His cape billows behind him, his crossbow no longer drawn but resting at his side. Thunder rumbles in the distance, the wind picking up with frigid strength.

“W-who is that?” Barnaby asks fearfully.

Flames explode from gloved palms, propelling Lunatic away from the scene, vanishing amongst the storm clouds.

He doesn't answer, frustration throbbing through him in poisonous waves, invasive and iron-hot.

 _Stay calm. You have to be calm,_ he tells himself. It's not the time to lose it.

He uses the remainder of his power to get them off the roof safely, making sure to steer Barnaby away from the sight of mangled, cooling bodies. They huddle together, shivering from the damp and sweating from the pursuit, wary of another NEXT popping up to attack. Kotetsu keeps his hands free and loose, ready to defend his partner, who holds onto his raincoat anxiously. There's too many steps to take to get to the building, he notes with irritation, and he can't walk any faster to make it up three grand staircases when his power's expired and something tugs painfully at his side. It's only when they reach Apollon's main entrance, dripping with water and mud, that he notices another color mingling on polished tiles.

Blood.

There's a gash on the right side of his abdomen. He clamps his hand over it to obstruct some of the flow.

“Mr. Kotetsu?”

Barnaby sounds like he’s panicking, something Kotetsu really doesn’t need at the moment.

He opens his mouth to reassure his partner by saying, “don’t worry, Bunny, it’s just a cut”, but passes out instead.  
~*


End file.
